


pillowtalk

by softanticipation



Series: pillowtalk [1]
Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-22 23:04:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 36,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6096880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softanticipation/pseuds/softanticipation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tobin's hurting. Christen's always there.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>  <i>“It’s okay,” Christen soothes, moving her hand to come up and tangle in the base of Tobin’s hair. “We don’t have to do this now.”</i></p>
<p><i>“But I want to,” Tobin says, jaw setting even as her eyes fill with glittering tears. “I </i>want<i> to do this now.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. part i

**Author's Note:**

> I did my best to keep the timeline fairly accurate, so apologies if anything is off or wrong. I wrote this first part in one night while listening to Zayn's Pillowtalk on repeat.

_Tap, tap, tap._

It continues in San Antonio. 

Christen is rooming with Kelley, so late at night when she hears someone knocking on the door just as she’s about to call it a night, she assumes that Kelley has just lost her room key. She slides out from between the sheets and makes her way to the door, trying not to shiver as the cool hotel air raises goose bumps along her bare arms and legs. On the other side of the door is definitely not Kelley, though. It’s Tobin, wrapped up in a soft-looking hoodie and sweatpants and looking decidedly hollow. 

“Hey,” Christen says quietly, stepping aside just enough to let Tobin slip in. “What are you doing here?”

Tobin is supposed to be rooming with Alex, a small consolation prize from the staff. Everyone knows that Tobin’s been going through a lot lately, what with Cheney retiring and Amy’s pregnancy and everything that happened in France. What the staff have failed to acknowledge, though, is that Alex is just as much a part of the problem. 

Christen barely remembers the first whispers of Alex Morgan to Orlando, and how at the time she’d casually asked Tobin what she thought of it all. It had been just before Tobin’s hundredth cap, the night before, and Tobin had been up late in Christen and Lauren’s room. Lauren had ducked out for a moment to say goodnight to her husband, and Christen had noticed the way Tobin was determinedly avoiding a text that Alex had sent her. 

“Are you going to miss her?” Christen had asked lightheartedly. Of course Tobin would miss Alex – they’re some of the closest friends on the team. Tobin has been there for Alex for almost everything. She’d mostly said it just to strike up conversation and get an idea of how Tobin felt about the intricacies of the situation, and most definitely hadn’t expected the sad eyes that Tobin had looked at her with. 

Tobin hadn’t even gotten a chance to answer – she’d just looked at Christen before looking back down at the hotel comforter and dabbing a fingertip to the corner of her eyes. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do in Portland without her,” Tobin had said. 

“You know you’ll be okay,” Christen had said in an attempt to cheer her up. “You’ve got the other girls on the team and you don’t spend a ton of the off season there. You’ll still see her at camps and you’ll be traveling during the season – “

She’d stopped abruptly there, noticing the way that Tobin’s shoulders were caving in and she was pressing the neck of her shirt to her nose. Christen almost didn’t recognize the sad and torn Tobin in front of her. The Tobin she knew wasn’t one for crying and breathing through snotty noses late at night. 

“Hey,” Christen had said, tentatively reaching out a hand to stroke along Tobin’s curved spine. “It’s okay. Can I do anything for you?”

Tobin had shaken her head but relaxed slightly under Christen’s hand. When Lauren’s voice had sounded from the other side of the door, she had straightened up and wiped hastily at her face, putting on a game face and pulling herself together. The next night Tobin and Alex were supposed to go out to celebrate Tobin’s hundredth cap, and Christen would have been lying if she said that she wasn’t surprised when Tobin asked her to tag along. Christen went, meeting a few of Tobin’s relatives and finding what she was really there for: to serve as a buffer between Tobin and Alex.

That had been September. She’d flown out to Paris afterwards and Christen didn’t hear from her for a while. All that Christen heard were more Morgan to Orlando rumors, and the usual radio silence from Tobin – aside from the occasional Instagram post completely lacking any context – was all that Christen needed to know. 

Then had come October. They’d had to say goodbye to Lauren, and Christen had let Amy and Tobin spend their time with her. It wasn’t until after the game, late at night when everyone was back at the hotel that Christen finally got a hold of Tobin. 

“Hey,” Christen said, opening her arms for a hug that Tobin easily fell into. “Great assist today.”

“Thanks,” Tobin said, and when she finally drew back, Christen could see the moisture in her eyes. “Ready to head on to DC?”

They flew to DC, but not until after Alex officially became a member of the Orlando Pride. Tobin spent the entire flight to DC clinging to Lauren and Amy, and during the rare moment that Tobin wasn’t putting on as normal of a face as she could, she was appearing at Christen’s elbow. When she tugged Christen onto her lap at the White House, Christen hid the surprise on her face and just relaxed into the hands on her waist. 

“You okay?” Christen had whispered while Lauren and Whitney talked above them.

Tobin didn’t respond for a while, hands tightening and then loosening. 

“Ask me again later,” Tobin eventually said. 

She’d flown straight out to Paris before Christen had gotten the chance, though, and while the lack of contact was nothing new, the noticeable absence of most of her adventures from social media was not. Christen spent all of November with a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach that didn’t unravel until Thanksgiving, despite the fact that Tobin had shown up in Chapel Hill. She’d texted most of the team members, Tobin included, just to celebrate and let them know that she was thankful for them. Tobin had texted back, just a selfie of herself and her brother at her parents’ home, and it had eased Christen’s nerves just barely. 

But then they’d arrived in Hawaii and Christen had spent so much time with Kelley that she hadn’t noticed how quiet Tobin was even when at her side. It wasn’t strange for Tobin to get into one of her moods, growing pensive and keeping to herself, so initially Christen hadn’t suspected anything. But usually when that happened she went to Lauren or Amy, or Alex even, and the fact was that Lauren and Amy weren’t there and she was on rough terms with Alex which meant that she wasn’t talking. So one evening after dinner, Christen caught Tobin in the elevator and asked her how she was. Tobin didn’t respond for a while until they reached their floor, and then she stepped out of the elevator and looked at Christen with the saddest look on her face. 

“Amy’s pregnant.”

Christen’s jaw dropped. 

“Don’t tell anyone,” Tobin pleaded. “She’ll be back in San Antonio and she’ll stay through New Orleans, but she’s not playing. She wants to be able to tell everyone herself.”

Once more Christen had found herself holding Tobin together, stroking a hand along her unbrushed hair and asking what she could do. 

“Maybe talk to Jill about not rooming me with Alex,” Tobin had said, her halfhearted attempt at a joke falling flat. 

“Things not going so well between you two?” Christen had asked quietly. 

Tobin sighed. 

“No,” she admitted. “And Paris didn’t go so well either. I don’t think I’ll be back there anytime soon. Or at all, ever.”

It hadn’t been a complete shock to Christen, who had suspected as much and had been able to put together pieces of overheard conversations between Tobin and Kelley and had picked up on enough tension to know that things hadn’t been going well for Tobin in that department. Still, her heart ached for Tobin, and she wondered how much loss she’d have to go through before ever getting a break. 

So now, in a hotel in Texas in which Tobin is steadfastly ignoring Alex as much as she can, Christen welcomes her in. A small part of her brain yells at her, telling her that she’s being an enabler and that she shouldn’t let Tobin run and hide when things get tough. It’s different though, feeling like she finally might be someone’s safe space, and Christen is selfish enough to relish it just enough to give Tobin whatever she asks for. 

When Tobin finally answers Christen’s question, she’s a few steps into the room and Christen has closed the door behind them. 

“Alex keeps trying to talk to me,” Tobin says flatly, her voice even emptier than usual – or at least, what’s become usual for her over the past couple months. “She keeps saying something about me visiting her in Orlando before the season starts. I couldn’t listen to it anymore.”

Christen has made her way back to her bed, both eyes on Tobin while she talks. Beneath the covers and feeling warmer, Christen pats the stretch of bed beside her. Tobin hesitates, looking like she isn’t sure that she wants to go so easily, but after a moment she does. 

After all, Tobin has never been stubborn just for the hell of it.

“Where’s Kelley?” Tobin asks. 

“Don’t know,” Christen answers with a shrug, making sure that her phone is plugged in and her alarm is set. “I thought that you were her.”

Tobin is quiet, sitting on top of the blankets and sheets and very clearly not wanting to go back to her own room. She came in with her room key, which now rests on top of the crowded dresser strewn with Kelley’s things, but nothing else. Christen yawns as she adjusts her pillows, and when she turns to look at Tobin, she sees a regretful expression. 

“You’re tired,” Tobin says. “I should go.”

She moves to get off the bed, unfolding one leg and reaching it towards the carpet just as Christen gets a chance to reach for her wrist, halting her motions almost instantly. 

“You don’t have to,” Christen says gently, her eyes already clouded with exhaustion. “You can stay. I don’t mind.”

Tobin hedges, letting Christen’s fingers encircle her delicate wrist. 

“Yeah, okay,” Tobin says eventually, bringing her leg back up on the bed. “What about Kelley?”

“You know she won’t care,” Christen says through a soft yawn. “You could even go sleep in her bed for all she would care.”

“I’m good here,” Tobin says quietly, gingerly lifting the covers and awkwardly sliding underneath.

Christen is asleep almost immediately. When she wakes up in the morning before her alarm is set to go off, faint light creeping through the curtains and illuminating the floating dust in the room, she discovers that Tobin is gone. There is nothing there to suggest that she ever was there, except for maybe a wrinkle in the sheets, and Christen finds herself disappointed for reasons that she doesn’t quite want to think about. 

*

“Why was Tobin in your bed last night?”

When Kelley asks about it before the game, obnoxious and loud on the bus where most people have their headphones jammed on or are talking just as loudly, Christen winces. The two of them sit together a row behind Tobin and Alex, who Christen thinks are only still sitting together out of routine. She of all people knows how important the bus buddy system is and that Tobin and Alex would never let a petty thing like a minor rift in their friendship come between their routine. 

“She needed to get away for a while,” Christen answers, shrugging and praying that Kelley lets her go back to her quiet head space. 

No such luck. 

“She’s rooming with Alex,” Kelley points out, as if everyone doesn’t know. “What could she possibly need to get away from?”

Christen knows that Kelley knows just as much about Tobin as she does, so she’s a little lost as to why Kelley doesn’t get it. Kelley knows about Alex and Paris and everything that Tobin’s been dealing with, Amy’s pregnancy presumably included, but she doesn’t seem to be able to grasp how deep Tobin’s hurt is running. Christen can see it, splintering Tobin further and further apart while she attempts to glue herself back together by running herself ragged during practice and working on her corners with a ferocity that Christen has never seen, since Pinoe and Lauren are gone and Tobin has yet another weight on her shoulders. She thinks that maybe she would understand Kelley’s attitude if Tobin was only dealing with a couple of things, but instead there seems to be a million and one things that Tobin is trying to work through. 

She’s hurting, and Christen feels like she’s the only one who sees it. She wants to explain it all to Kelley, but she wouldn’t even know where to begin. Besides, that wouldn’t be fair to Tobin. She doesn’t deserve to have her story spilled out so carelessly, so plainly and explicitly for others to see and judge. 

“I don’t know,” is all that she says, picking her headphones up out of her lap and putting them on, effectively ending the conversation. Kelley gives it up, and the time until the start of the game is relatively peaceful. 

Christen scores three goals after coming on late in the game, and even though Tobin isn’t on the field when any of them happen, Christen can still hear her excited yells from the sideline. Later in the locker room, when they’re all finished sighing autographs and they’re only starting to come down from the high, Christen finds Tobin at her locker. She knows that Tobin retreated early – she saw her sign a few autographs and take not even a handful of selfies before leaving the field, clearly not up to being brave for much longer. Christen knows how it is because it’s the same for her: hard. It’s easier for people like Ali and Alex, who absolutely thrive under the spotlight, but for people like Tobin and Christen it’s difficult and complicated. 

Still, Tobin has left the field relatively early compared to her own normal, so Christen is a little surprised to see her warm smile as she perches on Christen’s chair. She’s been expecting the opposite.

“Come here,” Tobin says warmly, all smiles and sweaty baby hairs as she reaches up for a hug that Christen doesn’t even hesitate to return. Tobin is all warm and soft angles in Christen’s arms, the two of them holding tight for a bit longer than they normally would. “You did so great today. I’m so proud of you.”

Something wells up large and hot in Christen’s chest and she can’t tamper down the enormous smile on her face as they finally draw away from each other. 

“Thank you,” Christen says sincerely, and nothing has ever looked so good to her as the wide grin on Tobin’s face. It’s the most genuine and happiest expression she’s worn in a while, and Christen wants to take a picture and show it to Tobin when she’s sad, just to remind her what it’s like to be happy. 

She’d score a million goals if it meant Tobin looking at her like that every time.

*

In Arizona, Tobin gets roomed with Amy which means that Christen sees a lot less of her. Everyone knows about Amy’s pregnancy at this point and it’s a constant barrage of people coming up to her to congratulate her, but Tobin is at her side almost the entire time. Tobin still sits next to Christen to lace up her cleats and shares a table with her for a couple of meals, but she spends the majority of her time attached to Amy like a barnacle. 

Not that Christen can blame her. If her best friends were all effectively leaving her, just a couple months apart, Christen doesn’t know what she would do. She lets Tobin do her own thing, figuring that it’s for the best.

Of course, having Amy out of commission means that during the game Christen gets subbed in for Alex again. Aside from Alex she’s the lone forward with the ability to score still left, seeing as how Abby’s basically on the field as a courtesy to her and the fans, and Syd’s ankle is still bothering her enough to prevent her from getting on the field during an actual game. Instead of thinking about those circumstances, though, Christen takes advantage of her time on the pitch. 

She scores another goal.

Tobin screams from the sidelines again. 

Back in the locker room, Tobin doesn’t even wait until Christen reaches her locker to congratulate her. Instead she shocks Christen by throwing herself into her arms suddenly enough that Christen nearly drops her, just barely managing to fit her arms under the curve of Tobin’s thighs in time to secure her. 

“You’re so good,” Tobin breathes into Christen’s hair. 

They’re both sweaty but Tobin sounds proud and exhilarated and Christen wonders if this is how people feel on cloud nine. She feels like she’s floating, hugging Tobin close to her and wishing that her arms were strong enough to hold her forever. 

Later on, when they’re all back at the hotel and Christen is trying to pack enough of her things to make the next morning go smoothly, there’s a tapping at the door. Christen shares a questioning look with Julie who just shrugs, and when she answers the door, she’s surprised to see Tobin. 

“Hey,” Tobin says, waving to Julie who just nods in return. Julie is wrapped up in bed, watching some late night tv show and texting her boyfriend, and clearly doesn’t think anything of Tobin being there. 

“What’s up?” Christen asks, glad to see that Tobin doesn’t look so miserable for once. The happiness from after the game seems to have lasted and that alone is enough to keep Christen’s spirits high. 

“Just wanted to hang out,” Tobin says, flopping down on the bed and landing on a couple of Christen’s shirts. “Amy’s on the phone with Adam and Ryan. I thought I’d give her some privacy.”

“That’s nice of you,” Christen says distractedly, tugging her shirts free of Tobin’s weight. Tobin shifts to the side to help her out. 

Tobin doesn’t say much, just laying there and watch Christen who is starting to feel slightly uncomfortable. 

“So are you excited for this damn thing to be over?” Tobin asks carefully after a few minutes of silence, and when Christen looks up, she curses at the suddenly heavy look on Tobin’s face. 

“Kind of,” Christen says with a shrug, folding a pair of leggings. “Mostly I’m just excited for the holidays.”

Tobin just kind of hums in response. 

“What are you doing after we’re done here?” Christen asks, thinking that maybe looking to the future might cheer Tobin back up again. 

“Going home,” Tobin says, her voice sounding more and more glum with every syllable. “Wherever that is.”

Christen carefully places her leggings in her suitcase. 

“You know,” she says slowly, thinking over her words a million times before speaking them, “There’s still a week before Christmas after we’re done in New Orleans.”

“Yeah,” Tobin says just as slowly. “I know.”

“If you’re not really doing anything, you can come stay with me for a bit.”

She offers it with her hair swinging forward to cover her face, cheeks flaming at the mere idea of Tobin saying no and leaving her forever embarrassed after putting herself out there. 

Tobin would never do that to her though, instead scooting forward so that her knees hang off the bed and brush Christen’s thighs. 

“Really?” she asks softly, and when Christen meets her eyes, she sees the slightest bit of hope amongst the seemingly infinite melancholy. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve got my own place near LA,” Christen tells her. “You’re welcome to come hang out for a bit. It’ll be better for you than doing nothing.”

“I’d love to,” Tobin breathes. “I’ll let our GM know tomorrow, see if he can book me on the same flight as you.”

Christen smiles to herself, folding a hoodie. 

“You should go to bed,” Christen says, looking at the room clock to see the hour approaching midnight. “We’ve got a flight tomorrow.”

“Can I stay?” Tobin asks earnestly, like a little kid asking their parents to sleep in their bed. 

Christen pauses, thinking of Amy and how much Tobin is going to miss her, and wondering if she should tell Tobin no, if she should tell her to take advantage of the little time she has left with her oldest friend still left on the national team before her maternity leave. Ultimately, though, the selfishness that she seems to have gained after scoring four goals in two games wins out, and she nods. 

“Yeah,” she says. “You ready to go sleep?”

“Yep,” Tobin says with a small smile. “I already brushed my teeth and everything.”

Christen laughs, knowing that that’s true because Tobin’s in her glasses – so is Christen, but that irrelevant, she tells herself, resisting the urge to take a selfie of the two of them with their bed head and glasses. Five minutes later, when they crawl under the covers and Julie shuts the lights off, Christen feels warm and sleepy underneath the sheets. Her and Tobin are slightly turned to face each other, and Christen could swear that if she moved her hand just a centimeter, their fingers would be touching. 

She doesn’t move though, and when Tobin rolls away and onto her stomach before falling asleep, she denies the sudden loss she feels in her chest. 

In the morning, Christen has to suppress the strange delight that she feels upon seeing Tobin’s sleeping body still next to hers.

*

They room together in New Orleans. Christen figures that this will make it easier on Tobin – allow her to feel safe without climbing into bed with Christen, even though Christen isn’t sure that she’s thrilled about that aspect of it – but it only seems to make it harder. Something in Tobin seems sadder, even when they all go to have dinner at Lauren’s. That night finds Tobin wordlessly slipping into bed with Christen, leaving her own bed untouched. Christen doesn’t say anything, but after open practice when Tobin is in the hotel shower and Kelley is stopping by, she’s forced to confront the idea. 

“You two sharing a bed again?” Kelley jokes, lounging on the still-made bed. Christen knows that it’s a joke, especially coming from Kelley, but she can’t stop herself from avoiding eye contact and nervously licking her lips. Kelley suddenly shoots up, palms planted on the bed as her eyes go wide and her mouth falls open. “Christen. You two are sharing a bed? Again?”

Christen doesn’t look up from where she’s re-lacing her sneakers, forcing herself to keep her hands and voice steady. 

“I think that Tobin’s lonely.”

It comes out normal enough, but Kelley still looks mildly incredulous. 

“Christen,” Kelley says impatiently. “Chris, she should really be sleeping in her own bed.”

Christen puts her sneakers down. “Why, though?” she asks simply. “Is it so bad that she feels a little better when she’s not alone?”

Kelley pulls a face, the corners of her mouth tugging from side to side. 

“She knows she can come to me too, right?” Kelley says. 

Christen just shrugs and gets up to put her shoes back with the rest of her things. 

“So, what, do you guys just cuddle all night?” Kelley asks curiously.

“Not really,” Christen says, sitting back down on her own bed, legs crossed underneath her. “We just sleep.”

“I’m a really good cuddler,” Kelley says absently, as though she cannot for the life of her understand why Tobin might prefer to go to someone a little more objective on the entire situation instead of her.

Christen hears the shower turn off then, and she changes the subject to what they’re all doing after the game tomorrow. It works, distracting Kelley easily, and when Tobin comes out of the bathroom in a white towel with wet hair and a sort of vulnerability about her, Christen makes a Herculean effort to focus on Kelley instead of the way water pools in the hollows of Tobin’s collarbones and drips down her back.

*

Christen doesn’t score, and she wants to be upset. A part of her feels like she’s let everyone down by allowing them to lose the game, even when it becomes abundantly clear that no one else cares too much. Everyone else is too busy celebrating Abby’s retirement and the end of the tour to be bothered, and when they head back to the hotel to get ready to go back out, Tobin turns around in her bus seat to smile at Christen.

“It was nice being on the field with you,” Tobin tells her, grinning as she wedges her face between her and Alex’s seats. “For once.”

Christen smiles back, acutely away of the way Kelley is scrutinizing her. 

“Same to you,” Christen says, wondering if she’s going to have be okay with this interaction. She’d been praying for a hug, praying that Tobin’s response to her performance on the field would have continued to grow exponentially, but a smile is fine, too. She’s fine with settling for a smile.

“Ready to go out?” Tobin asks, eyes bright and light, and for once, Christen thinks that maybe Tobin is doing okay. She slept in Christen’s bed last night and was there when she woke up, already awake and sleepily checking her phone. It had been a form of normality that Christen had unconsciously found herself reveling in. 

“Of course,” Christen answers.

“What about you, Kell?” Tobin asks though, and something in Christen shrinks. 

It doesn’t last for long, though. Back at the hotel it’s just the two of them in their room, with Christen quickly showering and then changing while Tobin takes her turn. She’s only just finished blow-drying her hair when Tobin comes out, twisting her wet hair with her fingers and staring at Christen. 

“What?” Christen asks, feeling self-conscious. 

“Nothing,” Tobin says smoothly. “You look nice.”

She’s only wearing black, nothing too fancy, but she accepts the compliment readily and with flushing cheeks. She tries not to use the mirror in front of her to sneak oblique glances at Tobin as she gets ready, flashing wide swathes of tanned skin as she pulls on jeans and a leather jacket whose lapels Christen wants to grab onto. It’s a bit of a failure, but at least Tobin doesn’t notice. 

They all kind of filter onto Bourbon Street in groups, but Christen makes sure to keep Tobin close to her. She’s not too sure as to who tags along with who, but she does know that they never stray more than a few feet away from each other. They stay in dark corners and when Christen shivers on the walk from one bar to another, Tobin doesn’t even ask before offering up her jacket. 

“You look cold,” is the only explanation she has before Christen finds herself accepting. 

Tobin then stays pressed up against Christen for the most of the night, and while Christen wouldn’t dare complain, she does find her head growing increasingly fuzzy. The alcohol they’ve consumed while barhopping is starting to get to her and the way that Tobin’s hand presses into the small of her back when they wait for a ride back to the hotel doesn’t help at all. Christen feels dizzy, unsteady on her feet and as though her head is spinning. 

“Did you have fun tonight?”

Tobin asks the question as they enter the hotel lobby, something anxious in her eyes and in the way her hand hovers near Christen’s elbow, ready to support her at any moment. 

“Yeah,” Christen answers, head turning to stare at Tobin’s timid smile. “I’m glad we stuck together.”

“Room buddies and all,” Tobin breathes back, eyes focused on Christen’s as they wait for an elevator. “Didn’t want anything happening to you.”

Christen feels pinned to the spot, unable to look away from the way Tobin’s tongue rolls along her bottom lip. 

“And thanks for the jacket,” Christen manages to get out when the elevator doors slide open. They both step inside, only breaking eye contact long enough for Tobin to jab at the button their floor. “It was a lot colder than I expected.”

“Oh, no problem,” Tobin answers.

Up in their room, Christen doesn’t bother with modesty as she sheds Tobin’s jacket and then her dress. She doesn’t try to shimmy on her sleep shorts underneath her clothes or anything like that, but instead just leaves the clothing in a pile on the bed that holds most of their things before even bothering to pick her pajamas up out of her open suitcase. She lets her hair fall over her shoulder as she bends at the waist, rifling for clothes that she doesn’t really need to look for because she knows exactly where she left them, and she swears that she feels Tobin’s eyes on her back as she takes longer than necessary. She’s only wearing a plain black bra and underwear, but when she straightens and turns around, she sees that Tobin is still dressed with her room key and phone in hand. 

She has the audacity to blush when Christen catches her, turning around and going about changing into her own sleep clothes.

Everyone on the team is comfortable with everyone else’s bodies – in theory. They walk around half dressed all the time in locker rooms and during training sessions, and it’s not at all rare to catch sight of bare abdomens or a little more thigh than their standard shorts cover. But in actuality, being faced with a teammates bare skin is unsettling. There’s something personal about the curve of a hip and the vulnerability of an exposed ribcage. 

So when Tobin slides into bed, Christen already under the covers and ready to crash, without her standard sweatpants and instead wearing little more than a loose t-shirt with a stretched and gaping neck and a pair of boy shorts, Christen feels her mouth go dry. She uses her tongue to wet her lips, staring at the way Tobin’s shirt hem falls almost below her underwear. Her mind goes places so quickly that she doesn’t even have a moment to catch herself, to stop the thoughts and wipe the images from her head. Christen isn’t sure that she’s ever seen this much of Tobin up close and personal, and she’s trying to close her eyes and go to sleep just so that her brain can shut off and stop picturing what Tobin’s bare hips might look like. 

Of course, Tobin chooses tonight to be the night when she finally approaches the middle of the bed instead of sticking to her side. Christen feels a bare knee brush against the side of her thigh as Tobin turns to face her, and she curses internally before slowly turning her neck to look at Tobin. 

“Hey,” Tobin says, looking uncertain as she lays down into her pillows. 

“Hey,” Christen says warily, wondering if Tobin needs to say anything or if she’s just saying goodnight. 

“Thanks,” Tobin says, leaving Christen to wrack her brain thinking about what she possibly could have done to warrant a thank you. As far as she knows, all she’s done is let Tobin lay on the unoccupied side of the same mattress for a few nights. It’s not even as if she could say that Tobin has been warming her bed, because they don’t even sleep close enough to each other for that to happen. 

“For what?” Christen asks, rolling on her side to face Tobin after trying and failing to come up with an adequate explanation. 

“For being there for me,” Tobin confesses quietly, blinking slowly. “Everyone else just wants me to think about all the good things I have going for me and forget about what’s been happening. Either that, or they expect me to be an adult and deal with it. You’re the only one who’s let me be sad without feeling bad about it.”

“Oh,” Christen says, slightly taken aback. “Um, you’re welcome.”

“I really appreciate it,” Tobin says, reaching out a hand to nudge against Christen’s arm. “Thank you. And thank you for inviting me to stay with you. I would probably go crazy if I didn’t have anything planned. I love my family and all, but you know how it gets.”

“You’re welcome anytime,” Christen says truthfully, and when Tobin reaches out her fingers to trail from Christen’s elbow to wrist, she shivers a little. It’s not cold in the hotel room but something inside her runs cold for a moment, flooding her spine and making her hairs stand on edge. 

The feeling only increases as Tobin’s eyes look up at Christen through her lashes, all the while dancing her fingers along Christen’s palm and then her fingers – 

Oh. Tobin’s holding her hand, interlocking their fingers, and Christen is pretty sure that they weren’t always so close together, but she also isn’t sure who made the move that allows her to stare at Tobin’s chapped lips and smell the faint beer and toothpaste on her tongue. Every reasonable fiber of Christen’s being is telling her to smile and roll onto her back. She should stop now and disentangle their hands and stop thinking about running her tongue over Tobin’s overly pink lips – but that’s the problem. Every instinct she has is telling her that she’s reading the signals right, and that this isn’t something she’s dreamed up after a handful of nights of sharing the same bed. She knows Tobin well enough to know that she wouldn’t be acting like this if she didn’t want something to come of it, and the thought that this might be something that Tobin wants – hell, that she _herself_ wants – is simultaneously terrifying and thrilling. 

Because the thing is, Christen wants this too. She’s been trying to pretend like she doesn’t, as though she hasn’t imagined her hands running from Tobin’s ribs past her hipbones and along her legs until she reaches delicate ankle bones, only to hitch them up and over her own waist. Christen has maybe, once or twice, imagined sucking delicate marks into the seemingly flawless tanned skin stretched over strong muscle and twisting tendons. She may have previously dreamt of feeling hands stroking over her shoulders, traveling round to her back to hold her tight and close. 

So Christen thinks that it’s her doing. She can’t confirm it, because she’s so wrapped up in her own internal debate, but she’s ninety-percent sure that she’s the one who adjusts her head so that she’s mere millimeters away before taking a leap of faith and pressing her lips against Tobin’s. 

The response, though, makes her wonder if maybe they were both initiators. 

Tobin is fevered, frantic and immediately opening her mouth to Christen who easily complies. She doesn’t hesitate before slipping her tongue along Christen’s teeth, running it along the sharp edges briefly before Christen has the presence of mind to keep up and kiss her back just as roughly. It might be adrenaline, it might be the alcohol, or it might be because they’ve been weaving themselves closer and closer into each other’s lives as the months have passed. All Christen knows is that when she caught Tobin staring at her, this was not the follow up she expected. 

It doesn’t let up, and Christen’s brain is screaming at her. She’s nervous that she’s ruining everything and terrified that Tobin will think she’s a bad kisser and she’s unbelievably turned on, unable to remember the last time she felt this way over the first moments of a kiss. She’s outrageously praying that Tobin isn’t regretting this as it’s happening, because she’s suddenly wondering how long this can last; how far can she push her luck? How far does she _want_ to push her luck?

Teeth don’t clash but they come close. Tobin is aggressive, which Christen is surprised by even though she acknowledges that she shouldn’t be. She pushes hard and teases, threatening to slow down and forcing Christen to give as good as she’s getting in order to earn more. It’s not quite a game but it makes her blood pound in her ears and her fingers clutch onto Tobin’s tight, nails digging into skin but never quite breaking the surface. Tobin’s lips are chapped against Christen’s, a rough sensation against her own that she welcomes because it keeps reminding her that this is _Tobin_ that she’s kissing. She’s known Tobin for ages, known of her for even longer, and to have her beside her like this, legs stretching to brush against hers is surreal and only heightens the atmosphere of the makeshift bubble they’ve managed to create around just the two of them. 

It doesn’t take too long for Christen to rise up on her elbow, pressed their clasped hands into the mattress to steady herself. She moves to hover above Tobin, sliding a leg over Tobin’s as the two of them easily roll in sync until they’re resituated. Tobin doesn’t seem to have trouble with this, letting Christen feign dominance, and just evens the score by reaching up her free hand to tangle in Christen’s hair. She then pulls lightly, and Christen finds herself moaning quietly against Tobin’s ridiculously talented tongue before she can stop herself. 

But then Tobin surges upwards, lifting her head from her pillows in what Christen assumes is an attempt to get closer to her and deepen the kiss further, if even possible, and Christen feels something funny against her face. Her cheeks suddenly feel wet and she automatically pulls away, confused and startled, and then opens and refocuses her eyes to look at Tobin. Her heart sinks, dropping into her stomach when she sees the wetness on Tobin’s cheeks, slightly black from mascara and tracking down her face. The lights are still on – Tobin sleeps closest to the lamp and hadn’t yet gotten a chance to turn if off – and Christen can see the very moment that Tobin becomes aware of what’s happening. She tightens the hand in Christen’s hair and tries to bring their lips back together, but Christen isn’t doing it like this. 

She’s not kissing a crying Tobin. She refuses to take advantage of her like that. 

So she gently unwinds their fingers and uses her freed hand to carefully pull Tobin’s hand out of her hair before sitting up, moving her knees to the side so that she isn’t straddling her anymore but is still close. Their legs are aligned, skin to skin, but Tobin looks uncharacteristically panicked and alarmed, as though caught in headlights. 

“Christen – “ she chokes out, shooting upright and dropping her hands into her lap. Sitting up, the tears slide quickly over her cheekbones. “Christen, listen, I’m sorry – “

Christen can’t bear to hear her apologize so she reaches forward a hand to slide behind Tobin’s hair and come to a rest on the back of her neck. Cupping the tender skin and curling hairs there, she leans forward just enough to press a full and lingering kiss to Tobin’s swollen pink lips. Tobin goes slack under her grip, one hand lifting and barely brushing Christen’s cheek. As much as she wishes that she could kiss her forever, Christen knows what she has to do and slowly detaches from Tobin yet again.

“I’m not doing this if you’re upset,” Christen says, as softly and gently as she can manage. She keeps her hand behind Tobin’s neck, holding her close. Christen doesn’t even bother to back up too far, not wanting to unnerve Tobin if she doesn’t have to. Instead they stay within inches of each other, both pairs of eyes aligned and intent. 

“I’m not upset,” Tobin says, but her voice breaks on the first syllable of “upset” and Christen knows that she’s lying. 

“It’s okay,” Christen soothes, moving her hand to come up and tangle in the base of Tobin’s hair. “We don’t have to do this now.”

She wants nothing more than to kiss Tobin all night and see where it takes them, but she knows that if Tobin can’t pull it together, that’s not an option. She’s fine with being Tobin’s safe place, but she’s not okay with being her escape from reality. 

“But I want to,” Tobin says, jaw setting even as her eyes fill with glittering tears. “I _want_ to do this now.”

“Listen,” Christen says, running her fingers down through Tobin’s wind-blown tangled hair. She scissors her fingers, easing through the knots. “I’m not going anywhere. We have time.”

Tobin doesn’t say anything. She just sits there, staring into Christen’s eyes with the occasional tear falling. 

“Promise?” she says, once Christen has combed through nearly all of her hair. 

“Promise,” Christen says with a nod. “I’m always here for you. Aren’t I?”

Tobin just swallows thickly and nods right back. 

“Let’s go to sleep,” Christen says, winding Tobin’s smooth hair around her hand. “We’ve had a busy day. Let’s see how we feel in the morning.”

Tobin wordlessly agrees. Christen releases her hair so that she can reach over and turn off the light, and she’s only just sunk into the mattress on her side of the bed when she feels a tentative hand on her upper arm. 

“Can I…”

Tobin’s voice trails off, startling in the darkness. Her body speaks for her though, sidling up to Christen with her head barely resting on her shoulder and her leg cautiously sliding over Christen’s. 

“Yeah,” Christen manages to say, angling her head to press a kiss to Tobin’s head. “Yeah, you can.”

Tobin’s leg comes to a rest between Christen’s, and now that they’re well and truly cuddling, Christen finds it easy to fall asleep.


	2. part ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen. if you're going to read this next part, i ask only one thing of you. go to youtube, iTunes, spotify - whatever you use to listen to music. play bryson tiller's "don't." on repeat. i don't care if you don't like the song or have never heard it, just do it. i listened to it on repeat while writing this chapter, and i promise that reading this while listening to that song will change your life. 
> 
> that being said - enjoy part two! i'm real excited to give this to you guys.

They sleep through most of their last morning in New Orleans. Their flight isn’t until the evening, so even after they yawn “good morning” at each other and take turns in the bathroom, Tobin and Christen lay in bed for as long as they can. They’re only watching a marathon of Law and Order: SVU and occasionally getting up to pack their suitcases, but there’s a quiet intimacy to spending most of the day together in a hotel room. 

They don’t venture out until nearly one, at which point Tobin’s growling stomach prompts them to head out in search of food. They stick close to the hotel, finding some cheap pizza and licking grease from their fingers before heading back to finish packing. 

They don’t talk about anything too deep. They talk about who is going to get the window seat (it’s been assigned to Christen, but Tobin tries to convince her to trade) and whether or not Christen has time for a shower before they have to go, or whether she should even bother considering that she’ll want one as soon as she gets off the plane. They avoid the subject of what happened the previous night, but Christen thinks that maybe Tobin will bring it up when she’s ready. 

The airport is quiet and slow on a Thursday evening. They go through security with Ali, who is flying out of the same terminal but on a different flight. Aside from a few fans asking for autographs and pictures, everything stands relatively still. There’s nothing there to bother them, and when they finally settle down in a couple of empty chairs in front of a mostly-empty gate, Tobin curls up and rests her head on Christen’s shoulder. 

“Thanks for inviting me,” Tobin says, her voice slow and drawling from a lazy day. 

“You’re always welcome at mine,” Christen says, flipping through the magazine she’s been reading. Tobin refuses to admit it, but Christen is pretty sure that she’s been reading over her shoulder. 

“Where are your dogs?”

Christen grins, thinking of what’s waiting for her at home. 

“Usually one of my sisters watch them while I’m gone,” Christen tells her. “Tyler has them this time. She’s supposed to drop them off before we get in.”

Tobin yawns, her jaw digging into Christen’s collarbone. 

“You should try to sleep,” Christen says, turning a page. “I’ll wake you up when it’s time to board.”

Tobin protests for a while, pretending that she’s not tired, but a mere ten minutes later she’s dozing, slumped against Christen’s arm and her mouth slightly open. Christen just chuckles to herself, reaching for a sip of her soda. 

The flight is more of the same. Tobin wins the battle for the window seat on the condition that she allow Christen to fall asleep in her lap, and Christen relishes the feeling of Tobin’s hands stroking her hair once the plane is at cruising altitude. A nighttime flight means that the cabin is dark and cool, and Christen snuggles further into Tobin’s lap until she feels soft and warm. She doesn’t quite fall asleep, registering when Tobin slumps over to rest her head on Christen’s hip halfway through the flight, but she’s out of it enough to not remember taking hold of Tobin’s hand and gripping tight. Thankfully, she realizes it when she wakes as soon as it’s announced that they’re about to begin their descent, so she’s able to release Tobin’s hand before she can wake up and see. 

It’s sleepy and slow and domestic, the way they have to travel through the airport together and wait for their bags. Tobin, Christen discovers, turns into a bit of a koala when tired, but she doesn’t really mind. She kind of revels in the way Tobin leans on her while they watch the suitcases pass by, and the way Tobin doesn’t bother to stay on the opposite side of the backseat of the taxi they take. Instead Tobin scoots to the middle seat, pressing the length of her body against Christen’s while complaining that she’s tired and hungry. She only quiets once Christen promises to feed her soon, and Christen prays that she’s got something in her house resembling food. It’s doubtful, considering how long she’s been gone, but there’s at least got to be a can of soup or some dry cereal they can make a meal out of. 

When they finally get to Christen’s house, Tobin yawns for the millionth time as she drags her suitcase along the front walkway while Christen pays the cabbie. 

“I like your house,” Tobin says as Christen joins her at the front door. “It’s nice.”

“You haven’t even seen it yet,” Christen protests, pulling her keys from her purse. 

“Yeah, but it’s yours,” Tobin says with a shrug. “I just know it’s going to be nice.”

It is nice, Christen has to admit. With a two car garage and three bedrooms plus a study, it’s a decent size – neither too big nor too small. There’s a pool out back that the dogs love, and an overly large great room with high ceilings that she spends most of her free time in. The whole thing is newly renovated but not obnoxious – just dark hardwoods throughout and granite countertops. 

Morena and Khaleesi are just inside and clamoring for attention, most likely having heard the jingle of keys in the lock. They nearly bowl over Tobin who looks like maybe a day of doing nothing is not the best for her, judging by her slow reaction time when Morena leaps up to press her paws against Tobin’s thighs.

“Hey, puppy,” Tobin says fondly, reaching down a hand to scratch at Morena’s head. “Hey, girl.”

Morena licks at Tobin’s hand, slobbering over her fingers, and Tobin just grins. Christen doesn’t even realize that she’s watching until Tobin looks over, nodding to where Khaleesi is scratching at Christen’s ankles.

“I think she missed you,” Tobin teases lightly. 

“Maybe,” Christen jokes, dropping her things to the floor before crouching down to welcome Khaleesi’s wet kisses. 

“So,” Tobin says, drawing out the word. “Where should I put my stuff?”

Christen straightens up, running a hand through her hair and contemplating the question. 

“I’ve got two guest bedrooms,” Christen offers. “One of them only has a futon in it because it’s for mostly storage, but the other one has a real bed and you – “

“Chris,” Tobin says, looking like she’s trying not to laugh, “I was asking where your bedroom is.”

“Oh,” Christen says, acutely aware of her suddenly flaming cheeks. “Oh. Okay. Yeah, it’s here, over to the left.”

They both make their way to Christen’s bedroom, and Tobin wastes no time in dropping her things by the foot of the bed and climbing in, settling on the right side that has become hers over the past couple of weeks. She bounces on the mattress a few times and Christen bites her bottom lip to stop from grinning. 

“Nice mattress,” Tobin says. “Feels like a cloud. I might have had to go for the futon if you’d been one of those people who likes a rock hard mattress.”

Christen doesn’t see how a futon would be any better than any such mattress, but she decides not to argue it. 

“So do you want to go see what’s in the kitchen?” Christen asks. 

“Yeah, just give me a second,” Tobin says, sliding off the edge of the bed. “I just want to brush my teeth and change my clothes.”

“Just come find me when you’re ready,” Christen tells her before leaving the room. 

There isn’t much in the kitchen. There are a few oranges, Cheerios, wilted lettuce, and a couple of cans of tuna. She’s biting her lip, wondering how much Tobin would hate her if they end up eating tuna salad out of a bowl for dinner, when Morena whines and drops her leash at Christen’s feet. Christen takes five minutes to let the dogs out in the fenced-in backyard before going back to the kitchen, looking in the cabinets again before confirming that either dry Cheerios or tuna salad are the only choices. 

Tobin still hasn’t come out though, so Christen heads for her bedroom to see what she’s up to. She comes to a stop in the doorway, laughing quietly at the sight before her.

Tobin is laying on the bed, changed into the same “pajamas” from last night. She’s got her phone in her hand, the screen still glowing. Her eyes are closed though, and her chest is rising and falling steadily.

She hasn’t even pulled back the covers, Christen observes, shoulders shaking from laughter. It’s impossible to be mad, because Tobin’s been half asleep all day anyway. 

Besides, the fewer people she has to share her Cheerios with, the better. 

*

The next day, it becomes apparent that Tobin is determined not to talk about the thing that the two of them really need to talk about. 

It starts with a trip to the market. Christen’s bagging up fruits and vegetables, all while making sure that Tobin picks out enough of her favorite foods to get her through her stay. It’s hot enough out that they can get away with cut-offs and t-shirts, and Christen just assumes that Tobin’s too busy looking at her legs to bother responding until it becomes apparent that Tobin is actively not answering her. 

“Tobin,” Christen tries again, tying off a bag of apples. “Are you sure that you don’t want to stay in one of my guest rooms?”

Tobin is far too focused on a carton of strawberries to be convincing. Tobin doesn’t even really like strawberries all that much. 

“Tobin,” Christen say again, this time louder as she elbows her. “Tobin.”

Tobin looks up, mild annoyance masked by a too-bright smile. 

“Can we get chocolate?” she asks. 

“Chocolate what?” Christen asks, playing along for the moment. 

“Chocolate anything,” Tobin answers. 

So they embark on a mission to find something suitably chocolate enough for Tobin’s tastes, and when they’re done shopping and have arrived back at Christen’s house, Tobin offers to walk the dogs while Christen starts making lunch. 

“I’m really just a disaster in the kitchen,” Tobin tells her, clipping leashes on collars. “You wouldn’t want me around anyway.”

“Do you even know how to walk a dog?” Christen asks dubiously, watching Khaleesi wag her tail enthusiastically. “Or two at once, for that matter?”

“I’ll be fine,” Tobin says with a shrug. 

Once Tobin’s gone, Christen sighs and pulls out a pot to boil pasta in. Tobin claims that she isn’t picky with her food, and Christen knows her well enough to know that that’s mostly true, but it doesn’t make her job any easier. As much as she usually loves Tobin’s easygoing nature, it’s become frustrating over the past twenty-four hours. She comes back in from walking the dogs around the time the pasta is cooked, and Christen looks up from where she’s chopping a tomato to see Tobin hopping up onto the counter only a foot away. 

“Be careful,” Christen warns, waving her knife. 

“I’m fine,” Tobin says with a shrug. 

Christen is contemplating ways to bring up what happened in New Orleans, knocking away Tobin’s hand to keep her from stealing bits of tomato. She can’t find a good transition though, not without being horribly obvious which is a tactic that she suspects won’t work. 

“Want to go swimming after we eat?” Tobin suggests, craning her head around to look through the windows at the pool. “We can just lay out with the dogs.”

“Sure,” Christen says. 

“And maybe tonight we can go to the beach,” Tobin continues, successfully stealing a tomato slice. Christen sighs, scooping up the cutting board and dumping the tomatoes in the bowl of salad. 

“Sure,” she repeats, heading to the fridge to get a jar of pesto. 

Tobin slides off the counter, coming up behind Christen as she searches for a spoon in a drawer. Christen starts when she feels a pair of arms slide around her waist. Stiffening with a spoon in one hand and pesto in the other, she waits for Tobin to continue.

“Thanks for having me,” Tobin mumbles into the nape of Christen’s neck. 

Christen swallows hard. 

“You’re welcome,” she manages to get out, the words sounding more like a question than she would like. 

Tobin is gone just as suddenly as she appeared. 

“I’m going to put on a bathing suit,” she says, pulling up her hair into a messy bun. “I’ll be out in five.”

Christen wants to make a joke, comment something about how she said that last time they were supposed to eat a meal together, but her throat is dry and her tongue is heavy and she can’t do anything other than nod helplessly while staring at Tobin as she walks away. 

*

That’s how the next few days go. Tobin remains frustratingly aloof and calm, relaxed and detached just enough to really grate on Christen’s nerves. When she’d put a stop to everything back in the New Orleans hotel room, she hadn’t expected for Tobin to turn a complete 180 on her. Instead of opening up and being vulnerable in front of her, Tobin seems newly hardened and determined to be nothing less than a good time and a gracious guest. After the first couple of days Christen gives up on changing that, because Tobin is so quick to either shut her down or distract her.

The distractions are the worst. 

They always come in the form of Tobin’s body, sidling up way too close to Christen who always goes quiet when it happens. It’s never overly intimate, always something that could be interpreted as friendly to anyone who didn’t know any better. It’s killing Christen though, to know what they shared and then be forced to be so close to her without knowing how far it will end up going. It’s just little things, like Tobin’s knees knocking against hers underneath a table or arms looped together as they walk down the street. Christen still feels like she’s dying, though, drowning in waves of confusion and poorly repressed want. 

So one late night, when Tobin gets bored and begs Christen to go to the boardwalk even though it’s far away and already dark outside, Christen bargains with herself. She’ll do this for Tobin, fulfill her need to always be moving, on the condition that she finally stand up for herself and get some answers from the girl who’s supposed to be leaving in thirty-six hours. 

They’ve already fallen into an easy routine. Tobin has her side of the bed and her own seat at Christen’s breakfast table. Tobin has a favorite spot on one of Christen’s couches for when they watch tv, and every time Christen showers she smells the remnants of Tobin’s almond-scented shampoo. Her razor sits on Christen’s shower seat and her perfume sits on her bathroom counter, and Tobin fills the dogs’ food and water bowls when Christen isn’t paying attention. Christen cooks while Tobin entertains her, and Tobin sleeps in while Christen walks the dogs in the mornings. When Christen comes back, she crawls back into bed just because she knows that Tobin doesn’t like waking up alone. 

Tobin washes dishes, and Christen loves her for it. Flip-flops are strewn across the house and once or twice Christen has put on a pair only to have Tobin laugh and tell her that the shoes are actually hers, but she doesn’t mind if Christen wears them. They try to do yoga in the study once, because Christen has turned it into a bit of a studio, but Tobin gets bored quickly and ends up doing squats and other exercises while Christen concentrates. Christen isn’t offended, and their routine comes to involve the two of them doing their two different activities side by side at least once a day. 

They stay up late and read together. Tobin has an infinite collection of books downloaded onto her iPad and Christen has a stack of paperbacks that her sisters have recommended to her over the years. They listen to music while they soak up the feeble winter sun, and pretend not to shiver when the cloud cover becomes too heavy. They venture out on adventures, with Tobin managing to convince Christen to get chocolate ice cream just so that Tobin can repeatedly steal licks off the cone. They find a record store that they explore for what feels like days, just looking through everything and coming up with a contest to see who can find the oldest record there. Christen wins, of course, because she has a better eye for detail and a greater attention span, and Tobin buys her a smoothie as a prize and rewards her with the lightest kiss to her cheek. When Tobin is dressed for their trip to the boardwalk, Christen doesn’t even realize until they’re in the car and five miles down the road that Tobin is wearing her shirt. 

“This is mine,” Christen says at a stoplight, reaching over to tug at Tobin’s sleeve. Tobin doesn’t seem fazed, already used to casual contact and seemingly unperturbed by the fact that they’ve started unconsciously sharing clothes. 

“Well, these are mine,” Tobin responds, reaching over to slowly run a hand over Christen’s shorts. She leaves her hand there, on the skin of her thigh.

Christen blushes in the dark of the car and prays that Tobin can’t see it. 

It takes a good half hour to drive to the coast. Thankfully, the late hour means that parking is easy and there isn’t anyone else around. Tobin predictably kicks off her shoes as soon as they step off the asphalt to hold them in her hand, and Christen follows suit. The boardwalk is long and the wood is cool underneath her feet, and Christen walks slowly and in silence as the wind ruffles through her hair. Tobin sticks to her side, head tilting upwards so that she can look at the sky. They eventually make their way to the end, resting their elbows on the ledge and looking out over the ocean. Christen bides her time appropriately, glancing sideways every once in a while to gauge Tobin’s expression. 

Tobin speaks up before Christen dares to. 

“Thanks for coming out here with me,” Tobin says, eyes falling closed as her head dips backwards again. “It feels good.”

It does feel good, Christen has to agree, with the salty air filling her nose and the gentle sea breeze caressing her skin into goose bumps. 

She shivers. 

“You don’t have to keep thanking me,” Christen says softly. “You know I’m here for whatever you need.”

Tobin opens her eyes, head falling to the side so she can smile beautifully at Christen. 

“Are you going to get mad if I say thank you again?” Tobin asks teasingly. 

“Yes,” Christen says, and when Tobin’s smile widens impossibly, she could swear that she sees stars in her eyes. 

It takes a moment of bravery for Christen to step closer. They’re still both angled towards the ocean and Tobin doesn’t seem shocked, barely even glancing at Christen now that her attention is back on the water, but it’s still something. It’s a little victory that grows when Christen tilts her head to rest on Tobin’s shoulder. Tobin’s posture immediately adjusts to make room for Christen.

“There might be a gas station near by,” Christen says after a long stretch of silence, chickening out but figuring that she still has time to talk. “Do you want to get junk food and come back and eat it on the beach?”

“Yeah,” Tobin says without missing a beat. “Definitely.”

So they walk to get slushies (Tobin gets cherry and Christen gets blue raspberry) and a bag of Sour Patch kids that they pass back and forth. Tobin seems intent on sneaking all of the red ones, forcing Christen to hold onto the bag and only pass her the orange ones. 

“These are gross, man,” Tobin says after a beat, once they’re sitting with their feet in the sand and Christen has successfully fed her at least five orange kids. “At least let me have the yellow ones.”

Christen laughs louder than necessary, relenting and using her phone to illuminate the inside of the bag so she can dump a handful of yellow and green candies into Tobin’s hand.

“So what are your Christmas plans?” Tobin asks halfway through her handful. 

“Just hanging out with family here,” Christen says with a shrug. “What about you?”

“Same,” Tobin says. “My family is spending the holiday in Florida, which I’m not thrilled about, but whatever.”

She shrugs. 

“What about your birthday, though?” Tobin asks, knocking their shoulders together. They’re sitting close, close enough that Christen can feel Tobin’s body heat tempering the chilly sand and mild winds. “Doing anything special?”

“Probably just dinner,” Christen says. It’s her turn to shrug, because she doesn’t have anything special planned for the occasion. Turning twenty-seven seems old to her, all of a sudden. When she says as much out loud, Tobin pulls a face and steals several sips of Christen’s slushie. 

“Don’t make me feel old,” Tobin tells her, wrinkling her nose. “I’m not an old lady yet. I already get enough crap from Alex about my age.”

“Alex is a baby,” Christen says comfortingly. “And there are plenty of people on the team that are older than you.”

Tobin lets out a short laugh. 

“Yeah, Hope and Carli,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Heather, Ali, Ash. That might be it.”

“When did you turn into such a grown woman?” Christen jokes, taking Tobin’s slushie when it becomes apparent that she’s not getting her own back anytime soon. The drink is syrupy sweet, surely staining her tongue and violating every rule Dawn has ever set for them, but they don’t care. 

“Hell if I know,” Tobin exhales. She sits with her knees wide and in the air, elbows perched on top and her wrists crossed casually in the middle. “And with Pinoe and Amy gone…”

Christen just looks at her sympathetically, only imagining the struggle of the unexpected transition from New Kid to veteran that has happened right before everyone’s eyes. It’s strange, to think of Tobin as being one of the most experienced members of the team, but it’s true. 

“You’ll always be five to me,” Christen tells her, sincere but grinning, and Tobin cracks a solemn smile. In the moonlight, with only a few streetlights reaching far enough to cast a pale yellow light over them, Christen can see the sheen to Tobin’s eyes. “Hey,” she says, reaching out the hand not holding the cheery slushie to rest on Tobin’s bare bicep. The muscle tenses under her fingertips but she holds on anyway. “I’m serious. Age is just a number.”

“I don’t want to get old,” Tobin says, staring up at the stars. 

“No one does,” she says, trying to reassure her. “God, sometimes I wish I was still twenty-one.”

Tobin’s mouth twitches. 

“I haven’t felt like myself in months,” she confesses, and Christen can tell that she’s holding back tears, just from the way she holds herself and refuses to blink. “Everything is changing but I feel so stuck, like everyone else is moving on but me.”

“That’s not true,” Christen tries to tell her, moving her hand to push back a few fallen strands of hair. 

“I feel like I’m getting left behind,” Tobin chokes out, and something in Christen clenches tight. “Amy’s having another kid, Lauren’s got her husband, Alex fucking _asked_ to be traded to Orlando,” she says, jaw tightening. “And I’m down a relationship, down a few friends, in the same town with the same team, sucking at corners and only barely keeping my starting spot. If Megan hadn’t gotten injured, I’d be fighting for my place on the wing.”

Christen keeps stroking at Tobin’s hair, trying to think of what to say and feeling awful for thinking that tonight needed to be about her instead of everything that Tobin’s been going through. Tobin’s got enough on her plate without worrying about Christen, and she should have remembered that from New Orleans. 

“First of all,” Christen says soothingly, “your corners don’t suck. You’re working on them, and Jill knows that.”

Tobin lets out a rough and snotty laugh. 

“Second of all,” Christen continues, sliding her fingertips along the shell of Tobin’s ear, “Amy is always going to be there for you. Lauren too. Besides, Amy’s already got Ryan and Lauren’s been married for years. Not as much has changed as you think.”

Christen’s hand skims its way along Tobin’s jaw before starting to stroke down her neck. 

“What Alex did is not cool, but it’s not the end of the world,” Christen says. “You’ll still see her a ton on the national team. Besides, you’re getting Meghan and Lindsey and probably Emily. And you still have Allie, and Mana, and all your other Portland friends. You’re going to be okay without her. Don’t let her think that you need her that badly, because you don’t.”

Tobin nods, blinking back her tears and looking minutely calmer. 

“You’d be a starter anyway,” Christen says firmly, cupping the back of Tobin’s neck in her palm. “Crystal and Steph don’t change that. What happened to Megan happened for a reason, and it sucks so bad, I know, but don’t think about that. Just appreciate what you have, okay? And all your friends are still your friends. No one’s leaving you Tobin. Everyone loves you. They’re not going anywhere. And you’re still on the same team because you’re good, okay? You’re really fucking good and if anyone ever tried to trade you, they’d have to be insane. You’re healthy and confident and you get better and better with every game. I’ve watched you, and you’re a great asset to any team.”

Christen steels herself, closing her eyes for a few seconds before steadying her hand on Tobin’s shoulder and finishing her impromptu monologue. 

“Relationships come and go,” she says, feeling the same nauseous feeling in her stomach that she’s always had thinking of Tobin and her now-ex. “They’re not a reason to feel bad about ourselves. If it didn’t work, then it didn’t work for a reason. It wouldn’t have ended if it was still perfect. Besides, Tobs, you’re a catch,” Christen says encouragingly, watching the corners of Tobin’s mouth curve up slightly. “If you really want someone, you could have anyone.”

Tobin’s tongue runs over her chapped lips. 

“Anyone?” she asks. 

Christen’s brow furrows, confused as to how that’s the only thing Tobin’s taken away from her entire speech. Frankly, she’s a little offended. 

“I mean, probably not anyone,” Christen says. “But a whole lot of people, yeah.”

Tobin takes a deep breath, staring into Christen’s eyes unnervingly. 

“Like you?”

Christen feels like the breath has been stolen out of her and she wants to hate Tobin for being able to do this to her so easily. 

Tobin doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she closes her eyes and moves closer, angling her head to the side so she can cautiously capture Christen’s bottom lip between her own. 

Christen jerks back though, just as they’ve barely made contact, and shoots up the hand on Tobin’s shoulder to press against Tobin’s lips. Her fingers rest there as Tobin’s eyes shoot open, the hurt and humiliation easy to read. 

“No, no,” Christen says quickly, adjusting her hand to curve along Tobin’s sharp jawline so she can hold her face close. “I’m not saying no.”

“Then what?” Tobin asks quietly, the frustration and fiery embarrassment in her voice making Christen want to apologize before fusing their lips together. Instead, she stays firm, telling herself that this is about what’s best for Tobin. 

“I want this, but only if you’re ready,” Christen explains gently. “I don’t want this if you’re upset or feeling lonely or like you’re missing something. I don’t want to do this halfway, or for you to be crying, or for you to regret it afterwards. I’ve wanted this for far too long to let it happen like that.”

Tobin sits stock still, staring at Christen with shock and indecision written plainly on her features. 

Christen wonders if Tobin is this easy to read to everyone, or if she’s just spent too much time studying her face. 

“Okay,” Tobin says, nodding to herself and breaking eye contact. “Okay. That makes sense.”

Christen’s hand falls from Tobin’s jaw, resting on her own thigh as she watches Tobin closely. Tobin doesn’t do much besides turn her gaze on the ocean and chew at her lips. 

“We should go back,” Christen says hesitantly after checking the time and being surprised by how late it is. 

Tobin nods, almost mechanically, and stands with Christen’s slushie still in hand. She extends her other hand towards Christen, who takes it warily and uses it to help pull her to her feet. 

They’ve just gotten in the car when Tobin leans over the center console, pressing her lips to Christen’s cheek and lingering there. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, breathing hot puffs of air against Christen’s ear before backing away. 

Christen could swear she sees the hint of a satisfied smile on Tobin’s face as she starts the car. 

*

The next morning consists of Christen scrubbing purple dye from her tongue for what feels like an hour while Tobin watches affectionately, sitting on the counter and swinging her legs back and forth. 

They eat breakfast in front of the tv, legs tangling underneath a throw blanket as Tobin devours her smoothie bowl. The entire time Christen can’t stop feeling like little sparks of electricity follow every point of contact between the two of them. 

They go shopping afterwards, Tobin exploring thrift stores while Christen curses her in her mind and wonders how Tobin can look so nonchalant after what happened between them in the dark. 

Christen lets Tobin pick a lunch location because she is weak to Tobin’s pleading for a burger and fries on her last day in town. 

Afternoon passes slowly under a cool sun, laid out in bathing suits while the dogs splash around in the water. Tobin looks like something else entirely in her faded swimsuit, and Christen hides her stare underneath the most heavily tinted pair of sunglasses she owns. 

They don’t even change before going in and starting dinner. Tobin grabs a white wine from the cabinet to pour into glasses, and Christen is loose and laughing while she pulls fish from the oven. They giggle about silly things and eat dinner by the pool under the setting sun, and Christen snaps a dozen pictures of the painted sky with her camera before Tobin tugs the phone from her grip and hands her a refilled glass of wine instead. 

Back inside, Christen goes to run water to wash the dishes when Tobin’s hand suddenly covers hers, preventing her from turning on the faucet. 

“I’m ready, you know,” Tobin murmurs against her ear. Christen stiffens for a second before relaxing, her back resting comfortably against Tobin’s front as her mind goes pleasantly empty. “I’m leaving early in the morning and I’m ready. If you are.”

Christen turns around, eyes locked on Tobin’s wide and solemn gaze. 

“You sure?” Christen breathes. Adrenaline rushes in her body and her heart pounds in her ears, speeding up far too much to be normal. 

Tobin nods and then reaches down, taking Christen’s hand in hers. They’re hands that Christen has held before, in high-fives and when leading each other places, but this time it feels completely different. Everything Tobin does feels weighted, and Christen is powerless to stop it. Instead, she leads Tobin to the bedroom, only thinking of the dogs at the last moment as she kicks the door closed. 

The last thing she wants is an interruption. 

It’s like being underwater. Everything is immersive and almost in another dimension, another world, like nothing Christen has ever experienced before. Her vision is clouded and her hearing is distorted, yet her other senses are sharper than ever. She can feel every ridge of Tobin’s fingertips against the back of her hand as they near the bed, and the thick tension and built-up anticipation tastes pungent and sweet yet bitter on her tongue and in her nostrils. 

Tobin goes to push Christen on the bed. Caught off guard, Christen lands on the edge of the mattress. The bed is unmade, messy because they’ve been lazy for Tobin’s entire stay and because they have better, more important things to do during their time together. The duvet is folded over under Christen, making sitting uncomfortable, but that thought disappears once Tobin bends down to tangle a hand in Christen’s still-damp hair and bring her face close. Christen rises up to help shorten the distance between them, but Tobin is the one who moves the last few inches to begin the kiss. 

Christen’s barely had the chance to experience it much, but she thinks that she could kiss Tobin forever. Her lips are soft yet rough, plush and pillowy. They’re easy to get lost in, and Tobin has no problem taking the lead while Christen sits there, pliant and eager. It’s infinitely gentler than the kiss in New Orleans, with Tobin taking her time to kiss first Christen’s top lip and then bottom. It makes Christen dizzy with how much time Tobin takes to get to know Christen’s mouth, eventually slipping her tongue out to taste her. Christen steadies herself before letting her tongue tangle with Tobin’s, smoothing it over her lips and then licking into her mouth. Tobin tastes like white wine, making Christen’s nerves stand on edge as she thinks back to the lingering touches they’ve shared over the past several days. 

It’s about then that Tobin gives up any semblance of control. She’s been resisting, Christen discovers, when Tobin whines lowly into Christen’s mouth before nearly collapsing against her. She slowly falls into Christen’s lap with her hands going to Christen’s shoulders in an attempt to steady herself. Christen moves back on the mattress, giving Tobin more room to fall so that she can properly land on top of Christen’s thighs. Tobin’s hands then quickly find their place in Christen’s hair, one cradling the base of her skull while the other tangles in the strands. 

There’s so much skin. Bare, tanned skin everywhere. Tobin is cool to the touch but blazing underneath Christen’s careful fingers, and it’s overwhelming to say the least. She doesn’t know how Tobin’s doing it, how Tobin isn’t disintegrating under where Christen has instinctively landed her hands on Tobin’s sides, feeling the delicate curvature of her ribcage and doing her best to keep her hands from wandering. Part of Christen wishes that they weren’t still in their bathing suits, that they’d put on clothes so that it wouldn’t suddenly feel like everything has escalated beyond what she was prepared to handle. 

To steady herself and hold Tobin safe, Christen places her hands on Tobin’s waist. She keeps her hands high in a safe zone while she sucks the remnants of alcohol from Tobin’s tongue and lips. Tobin whines again when Christen bites down on her full bottom lip, so Christen does it again, this time a little harder. Her hands reflexively tighten on Tobin’s waist, and Tobin squirms in response. 

She can’t help it, the way she has to abruptly break the kiss and gasp for air. She doesn’t know how long their lips have been connected but it feels like hours, and when she pulls back to look at Tobin, she sees gloriously swollen pink lips and glazed-over eyes that, for once, don’t appear to be filled with tears. Instead Christen can read the want and desire in the dilated pupils, hear it in the rapid breathing, and feel it in the tight grip of Tobin’s hands. If Tobin’s goal is to convince Christen how badly she wants this, how perfectly fine she is with this happening, then she’s succeeded. 

For a while, they remain at a stalemate. They stare at each other through heavy breathing and neither move an inch. Tobin’s hands remain wrestled in Christen’s hair and Christen keeps her grip constant on Tobin’s waist, simultaneously terrified and anticipatory of Tobin possibly moving again. She doesn’t though, not for long stretches of seconds, and Christen begins to crack as her fingertips press harder into impossibly soft skin. 

“What are – “

Of course Christen is the first one to break, her voice following as she cringes in embarrassment. Tobin just looks at her though, an edge of expectancy in her eyes. Christen searches her mind, sifting through thousands of questions and phrases that come to mind. None of them sound right, none of them adequate for the occasion, and she struggles with what to say until finally landing on the simplest sentence she can think of. 

“Can I touch you?”

Christen watches Tobin’s face carefully, watching shock, then understanding, then confusion, then approval settle over her features. To maybe help clarify, Christen moves a hand to slide up Tobin’s side until the edge of her palm is mere millimeters from the curve of her left breast, brushing the fabric of her simple bikini top and resting over the string crossing over her back. 

“You can do whatever you want,” Tobin tells her throatily, leaning forward to seal their lips together in a kiss unlike the previous one. Fire claws up Christen’s chest, letting her burn while Tobin only seems to grow stronger and more confident as she takes advantage of Christen’s surprise to stroke her tongue into the back of her mouth. 

Her hand shakes and she goes slow, not wanting to freak out and jerk her wrist in a way that would be any less than perfect. Christen starts edging her hand inwards, gasping in the back of her throat when she feels the soft, sweet swell of Tobin’s breast with the heel of her palm. Tobin lets a brief chuckle out into Christen’s mouth, hinting that maybe Christen is nowhere near as subtle as she hopes, but she can’t be bothered for long because she shakily drags her hand inwards and it’s like all the air has dissipated out of her lungs. 

It’s like nothing she ever thought she’d be able to do, curving her fingers to hold the weight of the breast in her hand as best as she can. She spreads her fingers wide, trying to cover as much area as possible and get to know the area as intimately as she can while distracted by Tobin’s tongue and the fact that she can hardly breathe. Christen just holds it for a moment, getting a feel for it and committing to memory just exactly how it feels to touch Tobin like this, even just over a triangle of damp fabric. 

It’s Tobin’s turn to gasp next, slowly retreating from Christen’s mouth and pressing their foreheads together in a clear sign that she’s overwhelmed. Christen tries not to be smug about it, but all she’s done is gently squeeze her hand and run a thumb over the skin available just outside of the bikini and Tobin is panting hot breaths into her mouth like she’s been running sprints for hours. Instead of smirking, she dips a finger beneath the bottom seam of the triangle, slowly stroking across and then back across the rise of flesh. She works slowly, secretly relishing the way Tobin shifts impatiently on top of her thighs. 

“Just touch me already,” Tobin entreats, and though Christen has known that neither of them are immune to what’s been building ever since Tobin touched her in the kitchen, she’s still surprised by how wrecked her voice sounds. She sounds hoarse and desperate, like she’s begging, like nothing Christen has ever heard from before. It’s private, and that alone makes Christen take pity on her, sliding the fabric to the side. 

She’s extraordinarily beautiful, Christen thinks, glancing down as Tobin insists on nestling her face into Christen’s neck. Ignoring the lips resting against the base of her neck is almost easy when she looks at the view in front of her, something that she’s never had uninhibited access to before. It makes her eager, doing to same to the other side of Tobin’s chest and curling her fingers around the string along the bottom to easier allow her eyes to rove over the wide expanse of smooth skin. 

Fingertips brush delicately, cautiously, tentatively across skin while nervously avoiding the hardened peaks demanding her attention. Christen resists for as long as she can, getting herself well acquainted with this particular part of Tobin’s anatomy. She doesn’t mind the way Tobin presses the flat of her teeth to her neck, just jolting at the sudden sensation and taking a moment to collect herself before continuing on with her exploration. She’s still timid, admittedly afraid that this whole thing will go to hell because they’ve only just started and have miles left to go. The longer she strokes and feels, the more confidence she finds. Tobin is panting, fisting Christen’s hair and giving up any last shred of composure she may have held onto. Christen can tell when Tobin’s gone mad with the slow pace she’s set, as she slides closer up Christen’s legs and grinds her hips as best as she can with the little friction available. 

“Chris,” Tobin breathes out, lips moving against her neck with every syllable. “Chris, come on. Please. I need more.”

So because she asks nicely and because Christen doesn’t need much more encouragement than that, she relents and finally ventures inwards to ghost fingertips over tight nipples. Tobin instantly lets out a sharp cry, broken and searching, and Christen goes on, encouraged and fascinated. She pinches soft and then hard, twists gentle and then aggressive, losing herself in the feel of the sensitive skin under her fingertips and the little noises Tobin keeps letting out without restraint. 

For someone who never has too much to say, Tobin is exceedingly vocal. She lets out a litany of curses, four letter words flying into Christen’s ear. She has no shame about pleading or begging, nearly weeping into Christen’s shoulder as she shamelessly asks for more. 

_More. Don’t stop. Please. That – that. Please. Chris._

The desire is Christen’s high, making her feel like she can do anything as long as she tries. She keeps it up, head swimming with every word Tobin speaks and gritting her teeth while trying to focus on the task at hand instead of the way her body has begun crying out for attention. She wants to lean down, use her tongue and wrap her mouth around where her fingers have been tugging to kiss and bite and soothe, but Tobin refuses to let her go. At some point Tobin moves a hand from Christen’s hair to the shoulder that her face isn’t resting on, and she clenches so tightly that she’ll likely leave bruises behind. Christen doesn’t mind that part as much as she minds not being able to suck marks into the rise of Tobin’s chest, but she lets Tobin have her sanctuary in the middle of the chaos of what this all means. 

The bikini gets in her way after a while. She abandons her task for as long as it takes to tug at bows and knots, yanking until strings come loose and the fabric falls away. It gets cruelly tossed the to side, and Christen only thinks about it for a split second before eagerly returning her hands to where they belong. 

Or course, Tobin can only surrender for so long. She pushes Christen down on the bed after finally lifting her head, staring down with a hunger in her eyes that’s almost intimidating. 

Almost. 

Her gaze pins Christen to the bed who can only stare back with permission that she prays Tobin understands. The only thing that can make Christen feel better about being interrupted is having Tobin’s attention on her. Thankfully, Tobin seems to understand the silent request, as she is quick to attach her lips to the side of Christen’s neck, sucking slightly as her hands find their way to the back clasp of her bathing suit top. Christen has to arch off the bed to give Tobin room to work with and their bare abdomens press together, hot and covered in a sheen of sweat and pool water that makes Christen’s eyes close momentarily before she snaps them back open. 

She doesn’t want to miss a single moment of this. 

Tobin’s got Christen’s top off in seconds and she wastes no time in discarding it, body curving down until she’s settled between Christen’s thighs. Christen feels warm and suffocated all over, overwhelmed by every single point of contact between the two of them, but she just takes deep breaths and tries to calm herself before Tobin goes further and she ends up losing it. Thankfully, Tobin keeps her hips still as she presses wet, sloppy kisses down and over Christen’s collarbones. She moves from one to the other, taking her time without going slow. It’s like she’s more efficient than Christen was, covering the same spectrum of sensations and feelings without making Christen feel like she’s going to explode. No, instead Christen just waits, knowing that she’ll get what she wants with minimal teasing because Tobin isn’t the type to draw it all out just for the hell of it. 

She’s proven right when Tobin kisses down her sternum. They’re light and chaste kisses, just a press against skin with her tongue occasionally darting out. Tobin moves down, down, until she’s reached stomach, and then she’s continuing and Christen begins to wonder if maybe this is revenge for taking too long. It’s a bit of a sensory overload and Tobin’s almost moving too fast, too fast for Christen to be able to take the time to mentally catalogue her every movement. Tobin gets as far as Christen’s navel, dipping her tongue inside and nipping just once at the edge before suddenly moving to align their faces. 

It’s as if they’re afraid to speak. They just look at each other, communicating through gentle touches and looks instead of with their words. Speaking would break the delicate atmosphere, and that’s just not something that Christen is willing to risk. Instead, she reaches down for Tobin’s hand. She finds it easily, Tobin moving to meet her halfway, and then moves their joined hands slowly until she can tenderly press Tobin’s palm to curve against her breast. 

Tobin lets out a sharp intake of breath, the wonder and amazement written plainly on her features as Christen’s hand retreats. Christen smiles at her reaction, but quickly ends up digging her teeth into her bottom lips as Tobin’s hand begins to softly knead. 

That’s only the beginning, though. Tobin breaks their eye contact only to go straight for Christen’s chest, kissing at the breast that her hand isn’t currently squeezing. Tobin abandons all pretenses, diving in with unadulterated enthusiasm that makes Christen relax into the mattress and think of nothing else besides how thankful she is that she didn’t bother resisting earlier. With her lips wrapped around a one nipple and the other being rolled between a thumb and a forefinger, Tobin looks up at Christen who promptly bites her lip so hard that she’s afraid she’s drawn blood. It’s a sight to behold, something that Christen wants to remember for the rest of her life; Tobin with her singular focus being Christen’s pleasure is divine and a picture worth a million words. 

Christen is growing restless, sporadic and faint waves of pleasure spreading out from where Tobin is centering her attention. She’s so impossibly turned on, patient but eager to see where they can go from here. If Tobin is this amazing above the waist she can barely begin to imagine what it will be like when she moves south, and despite the fact that both of them know where this is going, the thought still brings an embarrassed heat to her cheeks. 

She can read minds: that’s the only explanation. There’s no other reason for why Tobin is suddenly abandoning Christen’s chest and heading downwards with a determined expression on her face. She looks intent, and Christen would be lying if she said that the concentration in her eyes didn’t scare her. Faced with the reality of how far they have yet to go despite how far they’ve come, Christen reaches down to cup Tobin’s jaw and tilt her head up so they can look each other in the eye. 

“Come here,” Christen says, attempting to pull her up. Tobin complies without question, a hint of a smile dancing on her lips and Christen kisses it away as soon as she can. As soon as Tobin is within reach, Christen kisses her deeply. Tobin tastes faintly of skin and salt, tinged with chemicals that are undoubtedly from the pool water dried on Christen’s body. Christen can’t really care, though, opening her mouth and angling the kiss so she can lick the roof of Tobin’s mouth. It earns her a soft moan that she feels more than hears, the vibrations traveling through her all the way down to her toes. 

A loud gasp isn’t the exactly desired reaction, Christen supposes, as she takes advantage of a distracted Tobin to flip their positions. She would have preferred another moan or maybe even a few muttered curses, but she’ll take what she can get. Tobin doesn’t seem horribly perturbed, willing to bend to Christen’s wordless demands and quickly adjusting to the new position by wrapping her legs around Christen’s waist. 

Christen wonders if Tobin has a manual, perhaps, on how to make Christen lose her mind. She flipped them with intent, her mind made up on what she wanted to do next, but suddenly it’s like Tobin has found the off switch in her brain and she can’t focus on the task ahead of her. It takes her a moment to gather herself, letting Tobin take control of the kiss so she can get herself together and get used to the sensation of having the covered apex of Tobin’s thighs pressed against her pubic bone. Tobin’s legs tighten just as Christen thinks she’s pulled herself together, and Christen decides that if she’s going to do this, she can’t wait for Tobin to press pause. She’s driven by pure animal instinct, it seems, something that Christen can’t compete with. Christen can only work with it, encouraging Tobin’s reactions to coax out what she really wants from her. 

So Christen reaches down, sliding a hand between the small of Tobin’s back and the mattress. Tobin makes room for her without hesitation, ankles crossing behind Christen’s back to help support herself. From there it’s easy to smooth her hand down over the fabric of Tobin’s bathing suit bottoms and grab onto firm muscle. Christen grins into their kiss as she hears Tobin’s throaty moan, and when she squeezes harder, she can feel Tobin responding exactly the way she’d hoped by desperately attempting to grind her hips upwards. 

When her unoccupied hand finally goes numb from helping hold herself up, Christen releases Tobin’s backside and pulls her mouth away. 

“What’d you do that for?” Tobin asks hoarsely, hand coming up to wipe at her wet mouth. 

Christen smiles down at her. 

“Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” she asks gently, stroking a hand over Tobin’s hair. She doesn’t linger though, pressing a single kiss to Tobin’s lips before shimmying down her body. Christen refuses to be distracted, going straight for what she wants and not bothering to put on a show as she hooks her index fingers in the side ties of Tobin’s tiny bikini. Tobin watches her, a sort of buzzing curiosity in her gaze.

Tobin’s sharp gasp comes from low in her throat, a barely audible thing that only spurs Christen on as she continues down, eyes on Tobin’s as she drops the scrap of fabric beside them. Only then, after Tobin’s firmly clenched her jaw and dropped her head back into the pillows beneath her, does Christen shift her gaze. She briefly considers taking her time – rubbing circles into the insides of her thighs, trailing kisses down her legs, winding her up until she’s just about crying for it – but pushes the thought aside for another time. She’s too eager to reach her goal here, and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t get what she wants because she was too intent on screwing around just for the hell of it. Christen figures she’ll get the opportunity later. If not later tonight, then at another date. 

She uses her fingers, but only to spread Tobin wide so she can begin. Christen’s doing her best to not be shy, and judging by the noise Tobin makes, it’s the right decision. Christen starts with her tongue, dragging it from bottom to top in a single long, slow lick that’s so deliriously satisfactory that her own eyes nearly roll into the back of her head. Tobin moans loud and wild as Christen goes, taking a moment after her first taste to swallow all of the saliva pooling in her mouth. She steadies herself before continuing, knowing how easy it would be to become completely intoxicated and forget about everything she wants to do. 

A second lick follows, nearly identical to the first. Then comes a third, Christen’s tongue still insistently flat the entire time. She’s about to go back for fourths when she feels Tobin’s hands fisting in her hair, yanking harshly in a way that sets Christen’s every nerve ending on fire. 

“Don’t tease,” Tobin begs, her voice dipping uncontrollably. 

Christen listens. She would never deny Tobin, is completely incapable of doing so, and so she obediently stiffens her tongue to trace circles around her clit, occasionally getting sloppy and hitting it head on. Every time she does so, Tobin’s hips jerk ever so slightly. For someone who has thus far been incredibly responsive, Tobin is remarkably restrained, and something about that irks Christen. Hoping for more of a reaction, Christen focuses her attention directly on Tobin’s clit. She flicks her tongue experimentally, paying close attention to Tobin’s response. When that doesn’t seem to do much, she rolls her tongue over the nerve endings in quick, short strokes. 

That seems to do the trick. Tobin keens, hips launching up into Christen’s face. Christen relishes the feeling, wetness coating her lips and chin as she determinedly keeps on. From there it only seems to build, with Tobin leaving one hand in her hair and clenching the other onto Christen’s shoulder. Her short nails dig in, nearly drawing blood, but Christen pays the pain no mind as Tobin’s thighs flex and she relentlessly continues her assault on Tobin’s clit. She finds the one spot that really seems to set Tobin off, causing her to desperately grind up against Christen’s mouth in a search for something more. 

“Chris,” Tobin pleads frantically, “Christen, please.”

There’s a sort of restlessness in her tone and the way she bucks her hips, lifting her thighs up to drape over Christen’s shoulder. Christen welcomes the change, even when Tobin’s thighs tighten unimaginably and she feels like she can’t breathe with how fiercely she’s being pressed into Tobin’s center. Her nose is flooded with the sweet smell right in front of it and she sucks on Tobin’s clit, flicking her tongue as she does. Tobin’s moans become increasingly louder and higher until she’s crying out, calling out Christen’s name in between the occasional _fuck_ let loose through clenched teeth. 

“Please, Christen,” Tobin pants out. “Please, Chris, I need to – “

It isn’t long after that that she’s practically screaming, her body arching off the bed as Christen eagerly licks up the effects of the orgasm. Tobin goes stiff and then she melts, like her entire being is unraveling and succumbing to Christen who remains between her legs as she watches her come undone. She watches with fascination, tongue continuing to stroke along languidly as she soaks up everything about the moment that she can. 

Eventually, after one very long, drawn out orgasm, Tobin uses her grip on Christen’s hair to yank her up. 

“Where’d you learn how to do that?” Tobin asks breathlessly, not bothering to wait for an answer before she kisses Christen hard enough to bruise. She’s aggressive, teeth clacking as she moves to shove Christen’s bikini bottoms off. There’s little to no preamble as she forges on, with Christen’s pulse quickening and wetness pooling down her thighs. She helps Tobin along, kicking off the bottoms when they’re far enough down.

Tobin’s quick, slipping a single long finger into Christen while fucking her tongue into her mouth. She seems to be spurred on by the taste of herself and the very thought of it all has Christen squirming against her finger, grinding down onto it and praying for more. It doesn’t take long, because Tobin likes teasing even less than Christen does. Before she knows it, there are two, then three fingers inside of her and she’s dripping all over Tobin’s hand. She can feel it, feel how soaked she is, and she can’t even be embarrassed because Tobin’s moaning along with her. 

It’s fast, so fast. Tobin has a firm thumb against Christen’s clit and fingers deep inside, hitting something that has Christen almost crying tears of pleasure. There’s a kind of speed and finesse that only Tobin could bring to the table and Christen can’t help but roll her hips into the motions until it’s her turn to come. It’s been far too long since the last time someone else did this for her, turning her world upside down and making her head spin, but regardless, Christen’s still fairly sure that it might be the best orgasm she’s ever had. She’s not sure if it’s because it’s Tobin or if it’s something else, but she does know that seemingly ages pass before she’s aware of herself again. 

When she finally comes to, she’s breathing heavily and resting on top of Tobin’s chest. Their bodies are pressed together, both of them sweaty and sticky and exhausted. Neither of them want to break the silence, pop the contented bubble that has settled around them, but Christen has an itch behind her right knee. As comfortable as Tobin’s right breast is, Christen eventually shifts to lay beside her instead of on top of her. Tobin doesn’t seem bothered, merely yawning and wrapping an arm around Christen’s shoulders once Christen has stopped moving and satisfied her itch. 

It takes several long minutes for Christen to completely come to her senses. She panics internally, a litany of questions running through her brain at the speed of light. Among the most frequent, though, are the ones about whether or not this will change things between them for better or worse, and if Tobin is just as okay with this happening as she was beforehand. 

So she slowly pulls away, starting when she sees Tobin’s eyes snap open. They’d been closed, almost fooling Christen into thinking that she’d been asleep if it hadn’t been for the way she’d been skimming a hand over her bare upper arm.

“Where’re you going?”

Tobin’s voice is low and sleepy, and it resounds deep inside Christen in a way that fills her heart and soul. 

“Um,” Christen says slowly, thinking as she sits up, extricating herself from Tobin’s reluctant grip. “I need a shower.”

Tobin’s eyelashes flutter closed. 

“Cool.”

Christen wants to giggle, white-hot anxiety spiking through her as Tobin doesn’t move an inch. She looks perfectly serene in the middle of Christen’s bed, completely naked and unconcerned. The sheets and blanket are a wrinkled mess beneath her and she makes no move to cover herself – not that Christen would want her to. 

She leaves reluctantly, wanting to stare at Tobin and draw mindless circles on her hip until she falls asleep, but her her mind is too wired for that. Instead she slips off the bed, padding quietly across the wood floors and the cool marble of her bathroom, stepping as quickly as she can because she’s _naked_. She turns the shower on, getting in when the temperature is hot enough to burn, and she feels the water slide down her body and intermingle with the drying sweat there. It’s a good ten minutes before she finally reaches for anything, blindly picking up Tobin’s shampoo and rubbing it into her chlorine-soaked scalp. 

She’s only just about to finish rinsing it out of her hair when she hears a gentle thudding behind her, and before she can rinse the shampoo out of her eyes and turn around to look for the source, she feels a toned arm snaking around her waist. Christen finds herself pressed up against Tobin’s front, almost like the way they stood in the kitchen earlier, but closer and with less clothing. 

“What’re you doing here?” Christen mumbles, wiping at her eyes until she can safely open them. She glances over her shoulder, her breath catching in her throat when she feels Tobin pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of her neck. 

“You were taking too long,” Tobin replies, her voice muffled by the running water. “Besides, I need a shower too.”

But her actions hint towards other intentions, as she glides a hand over Christen’s stomach. Christen braces herself, palms to the tile, and she’s grateful for the support when she feels Tobin’s teeth digging into the juncture of her neck and shoulder. 

“You have to leave in the morning,” Christen gasps out. Her legs have only just recovered from the orgasm, and it’s too soon to ask them to remain steady while Tobin scrapes her teeth over her skin and rubs Christen’s clit between two of her fingers. “We can’t – you should go to bed soon. Your flight is at seven. We need to leave at five, at the latest.”

“Shh,” Tobin whispers, now sucking at Christen’s collarbone. Christen’s head lolls back involuntarily. “We have all night.”

With one hand tugging at her nipple and the other stroking through her folds, Tobin convinces Christen to forget about their time constraints and just go with it. 

*

Tobin makes her come in the shower and then once more in the kitchen. She sits Christen on the cold counter and draws her climax out with her mouth, waiting until Christen has tears running down her cheeks and is just about sobbing before taking pity on her. 

Christen gets a chance to return the favor after they finally eat a late night snack, their original intent when leaving the bedroom, after they’ve let the dogs out to pee and have retreated to bed again. She grinds down on Tobin’s thigh while fingering her with hazy focus, letting Tobin sigh while she approaches orgasm herself. 

Once Tobin’s come again, Christen’s so near coming again herself that she doesn’t protest when Tobin aligns their centers and grinds up until they’re falling together, barely getting a chance to untangle before falling asleep. Christen gets a glimpse of the time before they do, too spent to register three o’clock for what it is. 

*

When she wakes, the first thing Christen registers is sunlight streaking through the windows.

She wakes lazy and slow, her brain foggy and the memories of last night belatedly flashing through her mind. When it finally catches up, she bolts up in bed with a start. 

Panicked eyes scan over the bedroom. Her pulse races unnervingly as she sees the lack of clothes strewn about, the watch missing from the nightstand on the other side of the bed, the pile of pastel-colored hair ties on top of her dresser gone. 

Christen bolts out of bed, mind running a thousand miles an hour as she flies to the bathroom, skidding to a stop outside the shower. The almond shampoo and conditioner are gone, and so is the pink razor. All that remains is her purple one. 

Her next thought is her phone. She runs to her nightstand where her phone is unplugged and forgotten, barely surviving on six percent battery. There are no messages, no missed calls. She searches through her entire phone, praying and hoping that there’s something, anything, at least some kind of explanation or reasoning. When there isn’t one, she widens her search to the entire house, blinking ferociously and ignoring Morena and Khaleesi as they nip at her heels. She takes a moment to look at the time and attempt to calculate the time difference and how long the flight is, but she has no idea what time it’s supposed to land, and she isn’t sure whether or not her half a dozen texts would even be received now, or several hours from now. 

_Did you leave?_

_Where are you?_

_You didn’t say goodbye._

_Please text me back?_

_Please, just let me know where you are._

_Are you coming back?_

When she’s done searching the entire house and hasn’t found a single trace of her except for the candy in a dish on the living room table, she sits stiffly on the edge of her bed, phone plugged in, and she waits. 

Christen waits, trying to be optimistic as she distracts herself with texting her sisters about their Christmas Eve plans tomorrow. 

Noon comes and goes and Christen wishes she knew when the flight is supposed to land. She leaves her phone to fix herself a lunch that she knows she’s going to be too anxious to eat, and when she hears her phone beep, she nearly trips and falls on her way to check it. 

It’s just her mom, asking what she wants for her birthday. Her heart deflates and her eyes fill with tears, and she returns to the kitchen with heavy footsteps. 

The afternoon passes in a blur, the dogs coming to rest at her feet while she lays in bed, phone in hand as she presses her face to the sheets. One of the pillows smells like almonds and the blanket smells like sex, and it takes everything Christen has to not let salty tears drip down onto the sheets. 

She starts calling around early evening. She calls and calls but every time she gets voicemail. The phone rings and rings, twenty rings every single damn time, before the automated voicemail message plays and Christen hangs up just to try again. 

She gives up around nightfall, trying not to think of what she was doing twenty-four hours prior. Of course, she fails at that, and the night flashes through her mind so incredibly vivid that it’s hard to believe it was all real and not just an extraordinary dream. 

She’s tired but can’t fall asleep, rolling from side to side in bed and staring at the ceiling and the walls and keeping a very intent ear out for her phone. 

She knows, though. She knows what’s happened and she’s forced to face it around midnight when her phone has been quiet for hours. She lets loose one sob and from there the floodgates open, leaving her crying in bed for hours until she eventually cries herself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i always tell myself that i'm not going to be a slut for reviews, but i can't help who i am. comment and tell me how listening to don't while reading this was the best decision you ever made. (if you didn't listen to it on repeat - go back and try again).
> 
> let's try something new here. if y'all message me on my tumblr (same as my username here - softanticipation.tumblr.com) i'll pick a random sentence from part three and send it to you. you don't have to follow me or anything if you don't want to, just let me know that you're looking for a sneak peek!
> 
> i love all of you, i really really do.


	3. part iii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song suggestion for this chapter: drive by halsey  
> here's to praying that there are no massive mistakes in this one since i'm not even reading through one last time before posting (if there are it's y'all's fault for wanting it so badly)

While it’s impossible to pinpoint exactly the moment Christen met Tobin for the first time, it’s a little easier to remember when she started falling in love. 

It’s not something that she carries around like a torch, burning her from the inside out and casting shadows on everything she does. Rather it’s a little calmer, like a reassuring curling wisp of smoke that warms her gently instead. It’s not something that she’s ever liked to dwell on, not while Tobin’s been flitting around the world like a little butterfly who got lost during the Great Migration and can’t be bothered to find it’s way back home. 

Except Tobin had, for a night, made Christen think that she’d maybe found a new sort of home. 

Christen remembers accidentally sitting in Alex’s seat on the bus in England, and the way Alex came to her when she’d had enough of crawling with anxiety and sitting in another row. It had left Christen mildly embarrassed and eager to move past it all, but then a girl that she only really knew through Kelley, their mutual friend, had approached her. 

“Sorry about Alex,” Tobin had shrugged, sitting next to Christen during an early morning breakfast. She’d been half asleep, yawning and wearing glasses and looking nothing like the incredibly intimidating and cool player that Christen had previously assumed she was. “She gets a little funny about her bus seat. I told her not to bother you about it.”

Christen had colored suddenly. All she’d done was sit down – she hadn’t meant to start a thing that spanned multiple teammates and conversations. 

“Oh,” she’d said, trying to hide her face as she looked down at her plate of eggs. “It’s not a big deal. I wish she’d have told me earlier.”

Tobin had grabbed a banana and a carton of yogurt, but before she could even begin to eat she was being beckoned away – something about needing to film a video for US Soccer’s YouTube page that apparently she’d been putting off as long as possible, according to the assistant who came to collect her. Before leaving, she crossed her eyes and pulled a face in Christen’s direction, clearly expecting sympathy with an undercurrent of comradery that Christen hadn’t expected.

Christen’s cheeks had remained red for the rest of the morning and even days later she was unable to shake the interaction from her mind. 

It had gone on like that for months, with Christen trying not to be fascinated. Thanks to Kelley, Christen eventually grew more comfortable around Tobin who was genuinely nice to Christen every time they talked. Then they were roomed together, and when Christen found that Tobin was the kind of person who didn’t mind hanging out in her room and spending quality time with her roommate, they found themselves talking until late and getting to know each other fairly well. Not to mention that Tobin wasn’t just nice – she was funny, in a sort of deadpan kind of way that had Christen giggling while others just stared at them, not getting the joke, while Tobin sat there and smirked with satisfaction.

It didn’t take too long to become close friends. In between hugs on the pitch as well as off, with Tobin enthusiastically tackling her at the start of every camp, Christen was hard pressed to remember exactly when her feelings shifted. 

She’d ignored them for a while. She’d been stubborn, thinking that she couldn’t possibly feel anything for the girl who returned from France with an outrageously wide smile every single time. There was no way Christen was pining over the girl who didn’t even bother to hide the grin she wore while texting incessantly, uncharacteristically glued to her phone whenever she wasn’t on the pitch. And of course Tobin told her about it, casually and in passing as though Christen already knew (which she had, but only because Kelley had a big mouth, and wouldn’t it have been awful if she hadn’t already known?), and from there, Christen had resolved to move on and get over the very tiny and very unrequited crush she had. 

But at one point, it had been impossible. Tobin was sad, having spent the holidays in America and with no flight to Paris in sight. She’d just been to Alex’s wedding and was moping around, doing the best she could to put on a smile while juggling the ball around the field and ignoring Christen’s attempts to ask her how she was _really_ doing. Her tune had changed, though, when she came knocking on Christen’s hotel room door. It hadn’t been the first time she’d done so, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last, but it was significant in that she had wrapped her arms around Christen as soon as she’d answered the door. 

“I missed you,” she’d breathed into Christen’s shoulder, holding her tight.

“Missed you too,” Christen had murmured, slowly coming to her senses and hugging back, wrapping her arms around Tobin’s middle.

It had been then, in the middle of the day in the middle of a camp, after Christen had watched Tobin drag her feet around for nearly a week, that she felt her heart swell and her brain concede. She waved a metaphorical white flag to herself, giving in and admitting that she might love the woman holding her, clutching onto her like a lifeline. 

She’d been fine, of course. Tobin usually was. Nothing had started going downhill yet, but Alex was married and Amy was busy with Ryan and she’d been missing France and had just come to Christen in a moment of weakness. It was before everything was turned upside down, before Tobin knew what was to come, before she was to experience some of the highest highs and the lowest lows of her life. 

So Christen had been half in love, inviting Tobin into the room to hang out before they had to go down for strength training, and trying not to think about it. She pushed it from her mind, resolving to deal with it later. Because the fact of the matter was that Tobin wasn’t free to be hers, and Christen had too much respect for her – and herself – to disregard that. She tried not to pine and to instead just enjoy Tobin’s company, the two of them comfortable in their close friendship. 

This is everything that Christen tells Kelley on the morning of Christmas Eve, her phone on speaker as she wipes her face and stands up tall, determined to pull herself together for the time being. 

Initially she’d only meant to text Kelley to ask if she knew whether or not Tobin was okay. The chances of something being wrong with Tobin, wrong enough that she was unable to respond to Christen’s texts and calls, was rare, but she figured it was worth a try. She’d texted Kelley who had been confused despite the fact that she knew Tobin had been staying with Christen. Kelley had called back after a few texts of back and forth, wanting to know what on Earth she was talking about because as far as she knew, Tobin was perfectly fine. She’d been texting Kelley consistently, even shooting off Happy Christmas Eve wishes that very morning. 

So Christen is forced to spill everything that happens, reluctant to do so as Kelley pulls it out of her like she’s giving her a root canal. She goes back to the beginning as she straightens her hair, continues through Tobin’s hundredth cap as she swipes on mascara, and finishes with the story of waking up the previous morning as she pulls on a pair of jeans. Kelley responds appropriately, interjecting comments every here and there or asking for clarification sometimes. Every once in a while she gasps or makes a noise of understanding, and Christen begins to actually feel calmer by the time she’s told her story, glossing over the time they spent naked together just enough so that Kelley understands the weight of it all. 

“It wasn’t just some stupid thing,” Christen argues desperately, when Kelley hasn’t said anything for a moment. “You have to get that. It meant something, and she knew that.”

“I know,” Kelley says, and Christen feels relief sagging within her when she hears the lack of judgment in her reassuring voice. “Trust me, I have no doubt that if Tobin stayed up all night with you, it meant something to both of you. She’s oblivious sometimes, but she’s not _that_ stupid. She wouldn’t do that with you if she wanted it to be casual.”

“So then where is she?” Christen asks in frustration, blinking furiously in the hopes of keeping the tears away from her makeup. She’s got to get going soon if she wants to show up at home in time for brunch, and she doesn’t have time to redo her mascara. 

Kelley sighs, sounding ragged and tired. 

“Christen,” she says. “I hate to say I told you so, but…”

Her voice trails off, and Christen’s heart drops. 

“But it’s Tobin,” she finishes flatly, resigned to the idea that as much as the night meant to the both of them, it might not have been enough to make Tobin stay. 

“I’m sorry,” Kelley says, and Christen winces at the sheer amount of sympathy she hears. “I really am. I wish you’d let me know what was going on before this happened.”

Christen laughs hollowly. “What, would you have stopped me?” she asks rhetorically. “Warned me off of her?”

“I mean, I knew you two were close, but I had no idea it was like this,” Kelley says. “I’m glad that you’ve been there for her, but I just – “

Kelley can’t finish yet another thought, and Christen heaves a sigh as she finds her shoes. 

“Maybe I expected too much,” Christen says with a shrug that Kelley can’t see. “I tried to keep things normal with her, keep my feelings out of it…”

“But it didn’t work,” Kelley says. “Listen, you did as well as you could. I just think that she’s still healing, you know? Maybe give her some time. From what you’ve told me, she’s got a lot that she’s trying to work through.”

Christen groans in frustration, straightening up from her closet floor and searching for her bag. 

“I guess,” she concedes. “I just wish that she hadn’t done this. I mean, we’re supposed to see each other at camp in a week and a half.”

“You’re going to be fine,” Kelley says unhelpfully. “If she’s weird at camp, I’ll punch her for you.”

This time, Christen laughs for real. 

“Listen, I’ve got to go,” Christen says, looking at the time on her phone. “Just, please let me know if she says anything. Please don’t bring it up with her, though.”

“I never would,” Kelley says loyally. “But if you need me to send her one of those glitter-filled envelopes in the mail or something as equally heinous – “

Christen seriously considers it for a second, but tells Kelley not to bother. 

*

So Christen spends the next few days quietly, catching up with her family and paying attention to people whom she’d been unintentionally neglecting while Tobin was in town. There’s a lot of laying low, taking group naps in the living room with the dogs curled up with whomever has given them the most food recently. It’s always nice to be home and it’s even nicer to receive presents. She’s bad about giving presents but she tries to have something for everyone, even if it’s just something silly that she ordered online one afternoon in a nondescript hotel room. 

She shoots Tobin a Merry Christmas text but doesn’t receive one in return, and is too disappointed to bother trying again.

Before she knows it, it’s her birthday. She had thought that the days would drag by, but spending the days with people she’s known for years make it all go by a little faster. The day is sweet, with her mom ordering her favorite cake from the bakery across town and her dad grilling fish as they all sit in the backyard. By the end of the night, it’s just her and her mom sitting around the dying embers of a fire that they’d roasted marshmallows on. Christen licks bits of sticky sugar from between her fingers, wrapped in a flannel that her sister had left behind earlier. The sky is overcast and the weather keeps growing chillier, the threat of rain looming closer and closer. 

She tries to ignore how the flannel reminds her of one of Tobin’s, one that she’d worn while she was in town and they went to get tacos from a truck for lunch. If she forgets hard enough, she can pretend that the one she’s wearing is actually Tobin’s.

“What’s on your mind?”

Her mom’s voice jolts her out of her thoughts, and Christen pauses with her tongue still half out of her mouth. 

“Um,” she says slowly, letting her hands fall into her lap. “Nothing.”

Her mom doesn’t say anything, but her searching gaze is enough to make Christen uncomfortable. 

“Thanks for a great birthday,” Christen offers, trying not to seem as though she’s wrapped up in wistful thoughts of how things might have gone had Tobin not ran off the way she had. “I had a really nice day.”

It had started late, with a brunch downtown at some place that sold expensive but delicious acai bowls. They had all rested in the early afternoon and then started preparing for dinner later, and Christen would be lying if she said that she hadn’t enjoyed her day. Just spending time with her family is usually enough to make for a good time. 

“We’re just glad to have you home.”

“That’s what happens when your birthday is so close to Christmas,” Christen jokes. “They usually don’t make us fly out until the new year.”

Her mom surveys her over her cup of tea, critical and calculating. It’s not unlike the way she used to look at Christen when she knew that she wasn’t telling her something as a kid, like when she’d gotten a bad grade or had a fight with a close friend. While Christen’s always been a relatively easy nut to crack for those who know her, her mom’s the best at getting her to confess anything. 

So, a few minutes later, when all her mom has done is ask how things have been with the team lately, Christen hangs her head and finds herself spilling half-truths. 

“Tobin came to stay with me, you know?” she begins, looking sideways at her mom whose expression hasn’t changed a bit. “And I thought that we were really having a great time, but then when she left things were just weird and I don’t know if it’s something I did or what.”

“What do you think you might have done?” her mom asks after several long moments and more than a few sips of tea. 

“Been too clingy,” Christen admits. “She’s one of those people who really likes her space sometimes, and I think that maybe our time together was just more than she could handle.”

Her mother’s brow furrows. “So what’s wrong with that? If she needs space and she’s taking some for herself, what’s the problem?”

Christen sighs. There’s no way she’s telling her mom exactly what went down. As close as they are, they’re not that kind of close. 

“We haven’t spoken since she left,” Christen says offhandedly. “I reached out and didn’t hear from her, and apparently she’s been speaking to Kelley, so it’s not like she’s being like this with everyone. I feel like she’s ignoring me specifically.”

“Christen,” her mom says with an air of impatience. “Honey, this sounds like middle school drama. You’ll see her at camp in a week. See how things are then and don’t make a big deal out of nothing.”

Christen sighs and wonders if, despite the way Tobin left things, they actually are alright. Maybe Tobin just hadn’t wanted to wake her up that morning, and maybe she’d been too caught up to return her calls and texts and then had just forgotten. Maybe she’s been busy with family, and maybe she’ll send Christen a belated birthday text and everything will feel fine. 

“Don’t beat yourself up over her,” her mother tells her, and even though it’s out of context, Christen does her best to take it to heart. 

She doesn’t leave until late, when it’s nearly eleven and she’s exhausted. The dogs are going to need a walk when she gets home, and she regrets leaving them there instead of bringing them with her so she could just spend the night in her childhood bedroom like she’s been doing for the past few nights. Of course with her luck, it begins drizzling as she pulls into her driveway, which means that she’s got to try and convince the dogs to get their business done before she gets wet enough to need a shower. 

Morena is easy enough. She knows the drill by now, and squats down in the lawn of a house a few doors down. Khaleesi is taking her sweet time though, sniffing around random patches of grass and dragging Christen down the street while the rain continues to sprinkle down. It’s not too bad, gentle and misting, but Christen only needs to look up at the pitch-black sky to know that it won’t stay that way for much longer. 

Christen ends up rounding the block because while Khaleesi might be stubborn, Christen is more stubborn. She refuses to go home without a second plastic bag in hand, and it isn’t until she’s almost home that Khaleesi finally decides that she’s ready to go. Of course, as soon as Christen is tying off the doggy bag, a bolt of lightning splits the sky in half, making her jump and her heart race. A crack of thunder rumbles deafeningly just a moment later and then it begins to pour. 

She’s just lucky that the dogs hate the rain as much as she does, because they eagerly join in when she sprints for her house. Christen counts the houses she passes, watching her feet pound against the concrete sidewalk as she races home. One, two, seven – seven houses before she’s in front of her own, running for the front door and not even realizing until she’s come to a sudden halt under the roof extending over her front stoop that there’s already someone there. 

Christen freezes, blinking raindrops from her sodden black eyelashes as she looks down. Her heart pounds in her chest, a tattoo against her ribcage and forcing her to take in deep gulps of air in order to feel like she isn’t about to pass out. 

Tobin’s crouching on her front step, back to the door and her phone to her ear. The phone falls from her hand as quickly as Christen skids to a stop, though, and Christen can see from where it falls onto her welcome mat that Tobin’s been calling her. Christen’s phone is just inside though, sitting on the table on her foyer where she’d left it in exchange for the dogs’ leashes. 

“What are you doing here?” Christen croaks out, her voice tight with anxiety and fraught with nerves. There’s the tiniest swelling of hope in the base of her chest, but she tamps it down as Tobin struggles to her feet. 

“Hi,” Tobin says, eyes fluttering as they dart along the length of Christen’s body to travel over the dogs at her side. “Can I come in?” 

Christen clears her throat, hoping to sound a little less weak when she speaks next. To buy herself some time, she tosses the plastic bags in the little pile that she dumps in her trash on garbage days. She runs a hand over her ponytail, wincing when she feels the frizz growing. She had only been in the downpour for a minute, tops, but her clothes feel sodden and soaked through to the skin, and she knows without looking that her hair is a disaster. 

Not exactly the way she’d hoped to look when faced with Tobin after what happened, but she supposes it will have to do. 

“What are you doing here?” she repeats, and it’s not particularly brilliant, or witty, or sarcastic, or all the things she dreams of being just to capture Tobin’s interest enough to make her stay, but it’s all she has. All Christen knows is that it’s nearly midnight and Tobin’s supposed to be in Florida still, according to Kelley, and instead she’s standing in front of her with her hair in that stupid half-bun ponytail thing that Christen vehemently abhors almost as much as she adores. 

When she notices the hair, though, she’s forced to notice the rest of Tobin’s appearance. She looks like she’s just risen from a couch in the middle of a tv marathon, with an oversized black sweatshirt giving her sweater paws and the same stupid fucking ripped black jeans that she always insists on wearing. She looks stupid, like she’d hopped on a plane on a whim, and it isn’t until Christen realizes the very obvious lack of a suitcase or any sort of bag at her side that her eyes grow wide and she wonders how accurate that split-second comparison may be. 

“How did you get here?” Christen blurts out just as Tobin blinks her eyes closed for several long seconds, opening them with an exhausted sort of exasperation on her face. 

“Can I just please come in?” Tobin asks again, this time almost pleading. “It’s cold out here, and I’m tired – “

Christen just waves her aside, ignoring the hurt expression on Tobin’s face as she reaches past her to open the door. 

“It’s been open this whole time,” Christen tells Tobin, who follows after her into the house. Tobin closes the door behind her, watching Christen in a way that makes her acutely uncomfortable. 

Tobin swallows. 

“The light was on,” she explains, painfully awkward. “I thought you were inside. I wasn’t going to try and barge in.”

“I wasn’t inside,” is all that Christen says as she kicks off her shoes while unclipping the dogs’ leashes. They shake themselves dry, scattering water droplets all over the floor and Christen cringes but she’s just going to have to wait and clean up the water stains tomorrow. 

“Chris – “

“Listen,” Christen interrupts, surprising herself when she straightens and turns around to look at Tobin head-on. Tobin looks tired, her eyes puffy and the bags underneath them apparent. She even looks small, her normally broad shoulders curving in on themselves as she stuffs her hands in her hoodie’s pockets. “I’m tired and just want to go to bed. You can stay, because I’m not enough of an asshole to kick you out, but you’re going to sleep in the guest room and we’ll deal with this tomorrow. Okay?”

Tobin looks like she’s on the verge of breaking down and it kills Christen to see, but she’s stubborn and angry and hurt and not about to give in. She’s already given so much – it’s time for her to stand firm. Tobin seems to want to say something, her neck muscles straining as she clenches her jaw, and Christen waits just to see if she will. 

But her shoulders just fall and she nods in defeat. Christen nods curtly, grabbing her phone and turning around to head to her bedroom. 

She closes the door before she can change her mind. 

*

Sleep doesn’t come easy, or at all. 

Christen doesn’t bother with a shower, too tired to even seriously entertain the concept but too worked up to do more than close her eyes once she’s in bed and dressed in pajamas. Her phone is plugged in and she’s set an alarm early enough to get in a good yoga session with plenty of time to spare before Tobin wakes up, giving her time to get her head in order before she actually has to deal with everything. 

Her mind races. She’s calculating, shocked with the realization that Tobin’s running on Florida time and that it’s past three in the morning on the east coast. It’s much later than Tobin is used to staying up which probably contributed to her fatigue and appearance, but only raises a dozen more questions as to how she ended up in California in the first place. More than once Christen grows frustrated, rolling onto her stomach and then her sides in an attempt to get comfortable enough to sleep. 

When it becomes apparent that sleep isn’t happening anytime soon, Christen reaches for her phone and fires off a one-sentence message to Kelley to explain what’s happened. It’s too late to expect a timely reply though, so Christen just rolls back over and stares into the darkness of her bedroom and listens to the pounding of rain against the earth. 

It rains and rains, almost loud enough to drown out the constant roar of Christen’s own thoughts. Her brain is running on a loop, moving from her own feelings to what Tobin’s up to, from anticipation for tomorrow to telling herself to lower her expectations, and it’s stressing her out and gnawing at her insides. Eventually, she gets up and tiptoes out to the kitchen. 

She wants to cry out when she gets there, though, and sees Tobin poking her head in the refrigerator. She’s illuminated by the white lighting, the rest of the house still blanketed by darkness occasionally broken by the flashes of lightning outside coming in through the windows and French doors. 

“Are you kidding me?” Christen exclaims lowly, rounding the counter to approach Tobin. 

Tobin looks at her, guilt splashed across her face as she slowly closes the refrigerator door. 

“Sorry,” she breathes out remorsefully. “I was just hungry.”

Christen closes her eyes and takes in several deep breathes, measuring her inhales and exhales. By the time she’s done, she feels substantially calmer. 

“Okay,” she says, opening her eyes and finding Tobin, features thrown into relief only by moonlight. It’s enough, though, to see the pain etched in the weary lines of her face. “Okay. That’s fine.”

Tobin looks at her with confusion as Christen moves on, grabbing a glass from a cabinet and filling it with water from the filter in the freezer door. Christen goes to leave and go back to bed, but while she’s still in earshot, Tobin’s words make her halt in her tracks. 

“Can’t sleep either?”

She says it sadly, but in a way that’s so knowing it makes Christen uncomfortable. 

Instead of replying, Christen turns around and demands, “Why are you here?”

When Tobin looks caught off-guard, the refrigerator open and lighting up her face, Christen shakes her head and clutches her glass tightly. 

“Less than a week ago you were running off, and now you’re here like I’m just supposed to welcome you back,” she says, hating the way her voice grows thin in the middle. “Why. Are. You. Here?”

Tobin sighs heavily, pulling an apple from the refrigerator before shutting it. 

“I’m not playing,” Christen says frustratedly. “Okay? This isn’t funny, whatever you’re doing, okay? I’m tired and I can’t sleep and I really don’t want this, okay? I don’t want to yell at you and be angry, but you’re not leaving me with a lot of options here.”

Tobin doesn’t answer, looking a bit like a deer in headlights as she grips the apple in her hand. 

So Christen continues. 

“This wasn’t a joke to me,” she says, and her body betrays her as it trembles. “It still isn’t. I don’t know what you’re thinking, or what you’re up to, but I don’t like it and I don’t want anything to do with you if this is how it’s going to be. If you’re just going to be like this, like you don’t care or anything, then I don’t really want you here.”

“You think I don’t care?” Tobin bursts out, stalking closer to Christen the way a lion stalks its prey. “You seriously think that?”

Christen keeps her mouth shut, lips forming a thin line. 

Tobin’s face calms instantly, sadness tainting her features as she shrinks back, looking small like she did earlier. 

“If that’s what you think, then maybe you don’t know me at all,” Tobin says miserably, shaking her head. 

“I thought I knew you, but I don’t know what to think now!” Christen cries out, throat tight and dry. “I thought that everything was fine until I woke up and you weren’t there! That’s like the cruelest thing in the world you could ever do to someone – you know that, right?”

“I didn’t know what else to do!” Tobin cries right back, her voice louder than Christen has heard it off the pitch in ages. “Okay? I couldn’t wake you up and look at you. I told you I was ready but I lied and I couldn’t look you in the eye knowing that.”

Tobin crosses her arms against her chest defensively, chewing on her bottom lip as she looks at Christen, afraid. 

Christen see enough defeat there, knows Tobin well enough to see the actions and words for what they are, and as much as she wants to hold a grudge and refuse to forgive her, she can’t. She knows Tobin well, well enough to know exactly what Tobin needs to begin to truly heal. So even though she almost hates herself for it, Christen exhales her bitterness out and reaches over to set her full glass on the edge of the kitchen counter before stepping forward. 

“I know,” she says, sounding just as miserable as Tobin had a minute earlier. “I know that you weren’t ready. Come here.”

She holds her arms open, fingertips just inches away from where Tobin is folded into herself, still wearing her hoodie and jeans. 

Tobin looks at her doubtfully, arms tightly crossed. 

“Come here,” Christen presses. “Just – stop thinking for five seconds and come here.”

It happens in a flurry, Tobin dropping the apple to the floor and rushing forward into Christen’s embrace. It takes Christen aback, the force with which Tobin burrows into Christen’s arms sending the air clean out of her lungs for a moment. Christen adjusts quickly though, wrapping her arms around Tobin’s back as tightly as she can. It’s uncomfortable, with Tobin’s hands curled into fists that press into Christen’s collarbones and her elbows squeezed between them, but Christen just breathes and drops her head to rest her nose in Tobin’s hair. 

Tobin smells stale, like cross-country travel and dry shampoo. She smells like desperation, her usual almond and perfume scent overwhelmed by pure pheromones and recycled cabin air. It makes Christen sad, stroking her thumb in small circles around one of the knobs of Tobin’s spine. She doesn’t move otherwise, though, staying still and holding Tobin firm and close. She stands patiently, not even flinching when she feels the hot slide of silent tears against the side her neck. She almost expects it, expects Tobin to fall apart in her arms because that’s what she’s been doing on and off for the past few months. 

“I’m sorry,” Tobin mumbles against Christen’s skin once her tears have slowed and begun to dry and Christen’s legs ache from standing in one spot for so long. “I wasn’t ready and I knew that and I let it happen anyway.”

“I know,” Christen says, a lump in her throat as she acknowledges what she’d known at the time. “I know that you weren’t ready and I let it happen too.”

“I’m just sorry,” Tobin whispers quietly, arms falling so that she can completely collapse against Christen. Her arms hang down by her sides for a few long awkward moments before she brings them up to hook loose and low around Christen’s waist. “I know that what I did was cruel and I wish that things had gone differently.”

It’s more than Christen could have asked for, and she didn’t even have to ask.

“Come to bed,” Christen says on the tail end of a sigh, slowly unwrapping her arms around around Tobin. “Come on. I’ll give you some pajamas.”

Tobin follows, hesitant with light footsteps as she follows Christen around her room. Christen focuses on setting Tobin up for the night, retrieving a clean t-shirt and cotton pajama pants for her. While Tobin changes, Christen searches around her bathroom for an empty contact case and a spare toothbrush. She pulls a blue one from an unopened pack of four and hands the things off to Tobin.

“I’ll be right back,” Christen tells her, brushing a hand along Tobin’s shoulders on her way out of the bathroom. Tobin just nods absently, already opening the drawer where Christen keeps her toothpaste. 

In the kitchen, Christen digs into a cabinet and finds a small bag of gummy peaches that Tobin had left behind half-finished. She grabs her glass of water before settling back into bed, listening to the water run in the bathroom sink and patiently waiting for Tobin to come back to her. When she does, she looks a little more human than before. Her eyes are rimmed red from crying and the dark circles under her eyes are even more apparent, but her hair looks brushed and the pajamas at least give off the illusion that she _didn’t_ hop on a plane with nothing but the clothes on her back. 

“Here,” Christen says quietly, handing Tobin the bag of gummies as she tentatively climbs into bed beside her. “Just so you don’t go to bed hungry.”

“I just brushed my teeth,” Tobin mumbles, but she takes the plastic bag anyway and reaches in for a sugar-coated peach anyway. 

Christen just watches her carefully, sipping on her water and trying to forget that it’s late and she just wants to sleep. It’s been a long day, longer than anticipated, and she’s not looking forward to waking up in the morning. 

“I meant to tell you when I first saw you,” Tobin says carefully, twisting a peach between her fingers after she’s inhaled at least five of them, “but happy birthday.”

Christen had nearly forgotten. 

“Oh,” she says, heart clenching violently. “Oh. Um – “

“I meant to tell you,” Tobin repeats, tearing the gummy in half. “That way it would technically still have been your birthday. But then you were mad and I forgot.”

“Sorry,” Christen says automatically. 

“Don’t be,” Tobin says, shaking her head and determinedly ripping the gummy into smaller bits, eyes fixed on her fingers. “It should have been the first thing I said to you. I wanted to tell you in person, you know?”

Christen wants to say something but hesitates, something that she’s thankful for when Tobin continues on with a sort of forced courage. 

“I thought about calling, this morning,” Tobin says, somehow managing to tear the gummy into a thousand tiny pieces that litter the section of blanket draped over her lap. Christen wants to say something, comment on the mess, but instead she just listens. “But I thought it might have been too early for you, and then I chickened out. And then I thought of how much I wanted for you to have a good birthday, and I wanted to call but I couldn’t, so I thought that maybe it would be easier to say it in person.”

“So you just flew over here?”

Tobin shrugs in response to Christen’s cracking voice. 

“Pretty much,” she answers, fingers sifting through the peach pieces now that they’re too small to ruin anymore. “Found a flight and figured that it was fate – the times worked out and there was one seat left on the plane.”

“You don’t have anything,” Christen blurts out. “You literally just got on a plane, without anything, and flew over here.”

“I have my wallet,” Tobin says in a weak attempt at being funny, but they both know that it isn’t, so she sighs. “I couldn’t think about it,” she confesses seriously. “I knew that if I thought about it too long, I’d never even make it to the airport. So I bought the ticket and grabbed my passport and had my sister drive me to the airport, and barely made it on the plane in time.”

“You’re crazy.”

It’s the first thing that pops into Christen’s head and she regrets it immediately, when Tobin’s head jerks to look at her with hurt obvious in her eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Tobin says, face long and drawn. “I shouldn’t have come like this, I know that now. I shouldn’t have left and I never should have come back.”

“You’re right,” Christen says, a lump in her throat. “But Tobin – thank you.”

Tobin smiles but it’s empty and sad and Christen never wants her to smile like that again. 

“You’re welcome,” she tells Christen, “but I’m not sure what you’re thanking me for.”

Christen isn’t sure either, but she gives Tobin the simplest, clearest reason. 

“For visiting me for my birthday,” she tells her. “It means a lot to me.”

Tobin sweeps the peach pieces into her palm and dumps them all in her mouth at once. Christen watches her chew slowly. 

“I’m tired,” Tobin says once she’s done swallowing, like it’s an announcement. “Can I go to bed?”

“Yeah,” Christen says softly, sinking down into her pillows and reaching for the lamp on her nightstand. “Yeah, go to bed.”

*

Christen sleeps so soundly that when she wakes, it feels like it’s only been seconds since her eyes closed. She squints at her bedroom, taking in the still dark surroundings and wondering what could have possibly woken her up in the early morning hours. A quick check of the clock tells her that it’s a quarter to five, and she only has to roll over in bed to find the other side of the mattress empty. 

Her heart sinks and her throat closes, and for a moment, she’s worried that she isn’t ever going to be able to breathe again. 

But then sounds the flushing of a toilet followed by the click of an opening door and the gentle pad of footsteps, and Christen’s lungs relax. 

Tobin pauses a foot away from the bed, looking at Christen with reluctant anticipation. 

“Sorry,” she whispers after a beat, getting back into bed. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

As she gets in bed, the moonlight seeping from between the curtains casts a reflection on Tobin’s shining cheeks. Trails fall from her eyes down her chin, and Christen finds herself reaching over to rub a thumb over one of the tracks before she can stop herself. 

Tobin’s sharp intake makes Christen’ pause, the pad of her thumb pressed to the soft, worn skin of Tobin’s cheekbone. She wonders if maybe she’s overstepped, if she’s frightened the broken creature in front of her. 

“Sorry,” Christen says, catching herself and pulling her hand away. Her thumb is wet and the tears are freshly fallen, and she finds herself wondering if Tobin’s slept at all. 

“Don’t be,” Tobin says, echoing their words from earlier. 

“It’s okay, you know,” Christen says, falling back onto her pillow, fighting to keep her eyes open. “It’s okay to cry.”

She’s drifting off again, the allure of sleep pulling her under, when a rough and strangled sob jolts her back to full consciousness. 

Christen can’t help but exhale, lungs collapsing as she turns back over to face Tobin who is lying mostly on her stomach, face angled in Christen’s direction as she wipes her eyes on the corner of her pillowcase. She doesn’t notice Christen, her shoulders jerking with angry but hushed sobs, and Christen can’t help but reach out again and rest a hand out to still her shaking form. 

“Tobin,” Christen says softly, uncertain and having no idea what’s keeping Tobin up, crying at night even after they’ve mostly resolved things between them. She racks her brain, trying to think of what could be upsetting Tobin so badly, but as far as she knows, there’s nothing new going on that would cause her to be acting this way. “Tobin, please tell me what’s going on.”

Tobin attempts to stifle her cries but it doesn’t work too well. Christen slides her hand down the slope of her shoulder blade and her back, resting for a moment on her flank. She then travels back up, trying to keep her touch light and soothing, and it must be working because after a few minutes Tobin’s sobs turn into hiccups and her body eventually goes still. 

“Tobin,” Christen tries again, “do you think you can tell me why you’re so upset?”

Tobin raises her head, bringing up her hands to wipe at her face as Christen leaves her hand where it is, the warmth of Tobin’s back burning her palm even through the t-shirt. 

“I’ll be okay,” Tobin mutters, elbows digging into the mattress so she can hold her head high. “I will.”

“It’s okay if you aren’t,” Christen says, rubbing her thumb in wide and sweeping strokes. “Just tell me. I can’t go to bed if you’re going to be up crying all night.”

For some reason that Christen doesn’t understand, this sends Tobin into another fit. She buries her face in her open hands, clutching on tightly as her lungs rattle with too little air. Christen feels lost and confused, not knowing what she could have possibly done to trigger this. 

“What?” she asks, hand running the length of Tobin’s trunk again. “Tobin, what did I say?”

“I’ll go,” Tobin chokes out, pushing herself out of Christen’s reach to sit on the other side of the mattress. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to keep you up. I’ll go.”

Christen’s actions are reactionary, immediately sliding forward through folds of blanket to reach Tobin before she can slip off the edge of the bed. Her arms go around Tobin’s shoulders, holding on protectively as her legs go to frame Tobin’s. 

“Don’t go,” Christen whispers, tucking her face into Tobin’s neck. “Please don’t leave me again.”

Tobin cries loudly, anguished things that break Christen’s heart as she holds onto her fiercely. She refuses to let go – refuses to give Tobin the opportunity to slip away without at least putting up a fight. Because even if something in Tobin is fucked, even if she’s splintered and doing a poor job at piecing herself together again, even if she’ll never be able to give any more of herself to Christen than she already has, Christen doesn’t care. She’s in too deep, so far in over her head, that just holding Tobin to her chest is enough to make it a little easier to breathe. 

She hates it – hates Tobin for making her feel weak. She wants to hate Tobin and all the walls she has up, all the things that she’s made Christen feel, the way she’s drawn Christen in and unknowingly wrapped her around her little finger. But Christen can’t, because she knows Tobin. She knows that Tobin is a good person who had always been a bit restless, who has lost more in the past year than she possibly has in her entire life, and is just having a difficult time coping. Christen knows that Tobin doesn’t have great coping mechanisms – she internalizes more than Christen realized at first and getting answers out of her is like pulling teeth. The problem is that even though she hates Tobin for everything she’s put her through, she knows her too well to really want to do anything about it. 

Besides, every time Tobin smiles at her – or looks at her, or talks to her, or does anything, really – she hates her a little less.

So she holds Tobin close, knowing that Tobin is tactile despite her standard casual demeanor, and prays that Tobin opens up sometime this century so that she doesn’t find the two of them going through this forever. 

But then Tobin speaks, taking her by surprise. 

“I’ve known that you’ve liked me since World Cup qualifying.”

Something in Christen’s veins goes ice cold and she immediately stiffens, blood boiling in her cheeks as she goes to back away. She instantly feels humiliated, embarrassed, mortified – every adjective to describe the itchy and burning sensation she feels down to her core and the immediate need to get far, far away from the girl she had willingly wrapped herself around. 

“Wait,” Tobin says, her voice snotty and thick as she shoots out a hand to grip at Christen’s left thigh. “Just wait.”

“I don’t want to hear this,” Christen says unevenly, but she stays where she is, hands beside her on the bed, gripping the sheets with her stomach in her throat. 

She feels like she’s going to be sick.

“You were so jealous,” Tobin says, other hand coming down to hold tight onto Christen’s right knee. “I didn’t see it at first.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” Christen says, shaking her head even though Tobin can’t see her. 

“You were,” Tobin says, her voice all over the place but so matter-of-fact that Christen is forced to at least consider her words. “Whenever I looked at her, Cheney told me that you looked like a kicked puppy.”

A fist clenches painfully around Christen’s heart. Of course Cheney had something to do with it – she has always been too observant, too intuitive for her own good. Christen had never discussed it with her, never needed to, never wanted to – she’d been too ashamed of her feelings to do anything about them, much less acknowledge them to anyone besides herself. 

“I didn’t believe her at first,” Tobin continues, “but then I paid attention and she was right. You were always too nice to me. Always there. And whenever I was on my phone, even if I was just looking at it, you got this look on your face. It was like you were torturing yourself, watching me the way you did.”

“Stop,” Christen hears herself say, blood pounding in her ears.

“I’ve known how you felt about me,” Tobin says, her tone wavering slightly. “And I took advantage of that over and over. I always asked for you. I always went to you because I knew that you’d be there for me.”

“Stop,” Christen repeats. “I don’t want to hear this.”

“Christen, listen,” Tobin says, a hint of desperation just barely detectable in her tone. “I always went to you because I knew you wouldn’t say no, but I always went to _you_. You were the only one who was always there when I needed someone, and I appreciate that more than you could ever know.”

Christen closes her eyes. 

Tobin’s hands clench on Christen’s legs. 

“But what happened when I was here,” she says, her voice impossibly tender, more so than Christen has ever heard it, “what happened between us wasn’t just me taking advantage of you. You need to know that you meant more to me that night than I could ever explain.”

Christen’s eyes squeeze shut, determined to block out the sound of Tobin’s voice by sheer will. 

“I’ve known that you liked me since World Cup qualifying,” Tobin says again, her voice strong. “But I know that I’ve been in love with you since you feel asleep that night and I realized that you deserve better than whatever the fuck I’ve been giving you for months now.”

Christen feels fingers brushing over her cheeks, not unlike what she did to Tobin earlier, and it isn’t until then that she realizes she’s been crying steadily and silently, tears running down her face and growing sticky against her jaw and neck. 

“Please look at me,” Tobin says quietly, and when Christen does, she’s met with big brown eyes looking at her searchingly. She isn’t sure when Tobin twisted her torso around, doesn’t know how long Tobin’s been looking at her, but she does know that her heart is beating uncontrollably fast and she feels like she’s drowning. 

“Say something,” Tobin asks, a scratch in her throat giving her away as her eyes search Christen’s, hands cradling her face. 

Christen swallows thickly, lost for words. 

Tobin sighs, biting her lower lip and looking away before returning to look at Christen seriously. 

“I’ve been a mess since I left you,” Tobin confesses, like she knows exactly what Christen wants to ask. “I left because I couldn’t look at you, not while I’d done something so dishonest. You’re better than that and I couldn’t stand that I’d fucked up like that. The entire time I was gone I was convinced that you were better off without me, because all I ever do is cry and make you listen to me whine about everything. It’s never been about you, and it should be. But then it was your birthday, and I thought that even if I’d been shitty to you about leaving, maybe at least we could stay friends if I did something nice for you. I was scared, Chris. I was scared that you’d turn me away. But you didn’t, because you’re a good person. You’re the best person, you know that?

“I keep crying because you’re too good for me. I left and you’re still here for me. You let me in, you let me in your bed, even after what I did, and I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you,” Tobin says, eyes shining in the very first rays of sun of the day poking through the heavy gray cloud cover. “I can’t believe how good you are to me. I was scared, Chris. I ran because I was scared and I wish I hadn’t, because all I’ve been able to think of since is how I could have kissed you good morning and you would have let me. After everything I’d taken from you, after everything you’d done for me, you would have let me do what I wanted, and I didn’t deserve that.”

“Say it again,” Christen says quietly before Tobin can keep going. Christen’s heart feels cautious but full, and she presses her hands flat to the sheets and tries to keep her heart from beating dangerously high. She worries that Tobin won’t get it, that her brow will furrow with confusion and she’ll be too scared to ask for it for real, but Tobin’s face instead smooths out and she smiles. It’s small and nothing like the smile Christen loves on her, but it’s something. 

“I’m in love with you,” she says, her voice steady and convincing. “And I’m praying that you at least feel something for me after everything I’ve done to you.”

Christen takes a deep breath. 

“I didn’t even realize I loved you until almost Algarve,” she breathes out, watching Tobin’s smile grow bigger as she speaks. “How did Cheney know before?”

Tobin giggles, something small but uninhibited as she holds Christen’s face tight between her hands. 

“Oh, Chris,” she says, moving closer. “Happy birthday.”

Christen watches her movements warily, watches her move close until their noses touch, and then she feels the soft pressure of a thumb on the corner of her mouth – almost as if asking for permission. She gives it with the barest hint of a nod, and Tobin closes the gap between them until their lips press together. Neither of them move, just breathing and reveling in the feeling of being right there against each other. 

Eventually Christen moves, kissing Tobin so slowly that their lips scrape together. It’s like everything happens in slow motion, Tobin tentatively taking Christen’s bottom lip between hers and Christen kissing her back, head swirling with the sensation. It’s familiar but thrilling, comfortable but exhilarating. They draw back after a minute or so, every motion prolonged, and by the time Christen’s eyes flutter open to meet Tobin’s, she’s smiling with a full heart.

“Let’s go to bed,” she tells Tobin, who just nods and follows her down. Christen lays down on her own pillow, pulling the covers up to her shoulders. Tobin waits until she’s situated, and then scoots close to nestle into Christen’s side. 

“I like it right here,” Tobin mumbles, pressing her face to Christen’s shoulder. Her legs slide between Christen’s, who instantly makes room. Tobin’s arm slides over Christen’s stomach, gripping her side loosely, and it reminds Christen of the way they’d fallen asleep in New Orleans. 

“Let’s sleep in,” Christen says, eyes half closed as she reaches over for her phone to turn off her alarm. “I’m so tired.”

“Me too,” Tobin says, her breathing already even as she pushes her face into the fabric of Christen’s pajamas. 

It’s comfortable and irresistible, and Christen falls asleep almost as soon as she sets her phone back down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all are a bunch of impatient fuckers and i love all of you more than you could ever know. review if you want part four! :*
> 
> update: let's play the same game we did with part ii. if y'all message me at softanticipation.tumblr.com i'll give you a preview sentence from part four! i am not above bribery to get you guys to talk to me.


	4. part iv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for sticking with me through all of this! hope you like this last one.

_Tap, tap, tap._

Christen isn’t expecting anyone. She’s half asleep, nodding off as she watches the end of an episode of Say Yes to the Dress on tv, just waiting for it to be over so she can sink further into bed and take the nap that’s been calling her name for the past half hour. But someone’s knocking at the hotel door and Christen’s roommate is in the bathroom, and she doesn’t want to move from her spot. She’s too warm for that.

“I’ve got it,” Kling calls out as she leaves the bathroom, and Christen lets out an exhale of relief. 

“You’re the best,” she replies. 

Christen’s in the bed closer to the door, which means that when the extra voice at the door isn’t easily identifiable, she has to wait to see if the person comes in to reveal themselves. There’s always the possibility that they’re here for Kling, but Christen has a nagging suspicion about who it is. 

She’s right, she thinks, as Kling and Alex come into view. Kling beelines for her own side of the room, grabbing her backpack as Alex stands at the foot of the bed awkwardly, staring at Christen intently. 

“I’m going to go,” Kling says, jerking a thumb towards the door as she glances between Alex and Christen, the tension palpable to anyone with a modicum of social awareness. “Be back later.”

Christen knows perfectly well that Kling wasn’t planning on going anywhere before Alex showed up, but before she can protest and insist that she be allowed to hang out in her hotel room – that she’ll leave, that she can talk to Alex elsewhere – she’s off and gone, most likely to get more coffee with Whitney. 

Alex clears her throat once the door shuts softly, Kling obviously taking care to not let it slam. Which is only fair, really, considering that Tobin’s been passed out in Christen’s lap since the moment the two fell into bed after practice. 

“Hey,” Alex says, uncharacteristically uncomfortable. “What’s up?”

Christen doesn’t know what to say. She knows why Alex is here and she doesn’t know what to say, mostly because she doesn’t know how much Alex knows. It’s one thing to have your roommate and close friend avoiding you, but it’s another entirely to know that the reason your roommate has found a new bed is because she’s found a girl to kiss goodnight. 

So Christen hedges, taking her time by turning off the tv and looking down at Tobin, brushing a hand over her windblown hair. Tobin is bundled up, curled into a ball with her head on Christen’s thighs and her hands tucked between them. She’s adorable like this, Christen thinks, watching the way her mouth hangs open just a tad as she breathes heavily. She doesn’t snore, not quite, and she’ll never keep Christen up at night, but she’s loud enough that it’s kind of funny to listen to. 

“Not much,” Christen answers eventually, when it becomes painfully obvious that she’s avoiding the question. “What about you?”

Alex sits gingerly on the foot of the bed, careful to stay away from any feet. 

“Missing my roommate.”

Alex says it lightly, like it’s not a big deal – merely an observation, really. But Christen hears the hurt lacing her tone, and she tries not to feel bad for harboring Tobin like a fugitive for the past week and a half or so. 

It’s not like Christen and Tobin haven’t spent enough time together, so it’s hard to push aside the guilt. Tobin seems permanently attached to Christen’s side, and she can’t find herself bothered by it all. From practicing together, to sharing a soft and chaste New Years Eve kiss afterwards, to Christen being forced to share her entire wardrobe with Tobin who was waiting for her brother to express ship her things across the country – well, attached at the hip is an understatement. 

Then they’d been thrust into the real world once camp started, and Tobin had still found a way to wedge herself further into every spare second of Christen’s time. Even if they weren’t training together, she was finding Christen as soon as they were released. Christen almost suspected that Tobin had a GPS tracker on her, with how quickly she managed to find her and how she didn’t even have to search before plopping down into a chair next to her at meeting and meals. Tobin, the same girl who tended to throw herself into whatever empty seat there was, regardless of who was around her, was actively seeking Christen out repeatedly. 

And Christen loved it. 

So now, with Alex in front of her looking between Tobin and Christen with a question on the tip of her tongue, Christen wants to just tell her the truth. Because sure, her and Tobin might have a tacit agreement that what they’re exploring is new and not yet a sure thing, but it’s clear to anyone who knows either of them that something more significant than friendship is going on. 

Like Kling, who had only needed to watch Tobin climb into Christen’s bed on the first night to corner Christen at breakfast the next morning. 

“When did you and Tobin start fucking?”

Christen had winced at the crudeness and carefully corrected Kling. 

“Don’t be offensive,” she had said delicately. 

“Okay, but then why is she in our room?” Kling had persisted. “I mean, I don’t mind having her in there as long as you two aren’t getting up to anything while I’m in there.”

“That won’t be happening,” Christen had said resolutely.

It really wouldn’t be. Aside from the occasional press of lips and that one make-out session that had happened on Christen’s couch before they’d left to go to camp, caught up in the stress of being forced to leave the bubble that they’d created together, Christen and Tobin had agreed on a hands-off rule. Thankfully, the rule really only applied to sexual activity, because Tobin tended to be handsy at best – the number of times she’d unnecessarily slid a hand across Christen’s waist or twirled her ponytail was getting out of control – and Christen was a sucker for cuddling. Still, they were working on the emotional part of whatever undefinable relationship they were sharing, and they couldn’t do that if they were busy reliving that one fateful night. 

So Kling had suspected something but been unable to get a straight answer from Christen who wasn’t about to tell anyone without Tobin’s explicit permission. It was a tricky thing that they knew would come with a dozen rules and lectures that neither of them wanted to deal with, but the biggest thing was not wanting everyone to know what was going on if it ended up crashing and burning. Tobin was optimistic, Christen less so. 

Then there had been Heather, who had always been too intuitive for her own good. She’d merely commented on the great chemistry Christen and Tobin were sharing, and when Christen had told her about practicing over break together, Heather had just raised her eyebrows and said, “Not what I was referring to.”

Ashlyn had been most recent. She hadn’t come to Christen, instead going to Tobin who had reported back to Christen. According to Tobin, Ashlyn had mentioned that Alex had told Syd that she’d had the room to herself the entire camp thus far. She’d then looked Tobin square in the eye before telling her that she was always there to talk if she needed help with anything. 

“Tobin,” Christen had said, squirming uncomfortably as they shared an ice bath. They were waiting on Sam and Emily and it wasn’t like they’d intended to be alone, but that was how it had worked out. “What if she knows?”

“So what?” Tobin had said, almost defiantly with how careless she sounded. “What would you do about it if she did?”

She’d stared Christen down until she was forced to give in, pouting and reaching forward to place her hands on Christen’s shoulders. 

“It’ll be fine,” Tobin reassured her. “She’s not stupid. She’s not going to run to anyone just because she’s apparently suspicious.”

So with Alex, Christen isn’t sure how much she knows. She doesn’t know if she’s been talking to Heather or Ashlyn, but if she has, Christen doesn’t want to have this conversation while Tobin’s fast asleep.

“Sorry, but she’s really tired,” Christen says glancing down at Tobin who hasn’t moved a bit. She sleeps completely motionless, which is nice when Christen’s considers how dangerous her pointy elbows have the potential to be. “Otherwise I’d tell her to go back to her own room.”

She sends Alex a joking smile, but Alex’s face remains stoic. 

“I’m actually here for you.”

Christen tries not to be surprised by how guarded and unflappable Alex is, but the truth is that this isn’t what she was expecting at all. 

“Oh, okay,” Christen says, pushing some hair behind her ear. “Sure. What is it?”

Alex looks at Tobin once more and then her shoulders fall, her posture loosening as her expression turns helpless. 

“Does she hate me?” 

It comes out as a demand, but Christen understands where it’s coming from, so she doesn’t get offended. 

“No,” Christen says, looking down at Tobin once more. She’s still asleep, breathing still even with her chest rising and falling where it’s pressed up against the outside of Christen’s thigh. “I think she just needs some time apart from you.”

“I’ve given her space,” Alex says. “But this is getting ridiculous. We haven’t had a conversation in forever.”

Christen shrugs a little, running her fingers over Tobin’s hair. The two of them can’t keep their hands out of each others hair, and while it drives Christen crazy when Tobin does it to her, Tobin doesn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, she kind of seems to enjoy it. 

“How is she?” Alex asks, her voice the least aggressive it’s been since she walked in the room. 

“She’s good,” Christen answers. 

“Is she really?” Alex pushes. “I know that she wasn’t.”

“She’s getting there,” Christen says, almost defensively. Since Tobin flew back for her birthday, they’ve spent dozens of hours just talking and sorting through things. Tobin might be hurting ad healing, but she really is doing better than she was before, and Christen would like to think that she’s part of the reason for that. “Just give her some time.”

“I’ve given her time,” Alex says, frustration edging her sharp words. “I’ve given her months! She was one of the first people I talked to when I first wanted to move to Orlando, and she still isn’t over it.”

Christen doesn’t say anything as she continues to stroke Tobin’s hair. 

“I mean, I get that she’s gone through a lot, or whatever. But can she really not even stay in the same damn hotel room as me anymore?”

Christen knows that she isn’t meant to see the frustrated glittering tears coating Alex’s eyes, so she keeps her gaze on Tobin. 

“There’s a lot more to it,” Christen mutters. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yeah, I know,” Alex says. “I know about whatever’s going on with you two, but it’s like no one even cares that you two are shacking up in here like Kling is your family pet or whatever.”

“I don’t think Kling would like to hear that,” Christen says warningly as she looks up at Alex. 

Alex deflates visibly. 

“Sorry,” she says contritely. “I’m just angry. We’re supposed to be friends, and she can’t even look at me anymore.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Christen offers. “See if she can sleep in your room for a night. She’s not hurting you on purpose, you know.”

“Well, I didn’t hurt her on purpose either, but look at how that turned out,” Alex says bitterly. 

Christen bites her tongue, knowing that Alex wouldn’t like what she has to say. 

“Take care of her,” Alex says, a sort of finality to her tone as she watches Christen’s hand push Tobin’s hair back away from her face. “If she won’t let me, at least you can be there for her.”

“Always,” Christen says lightly, finding herself wishing that Alex would finish whatever it is she wants to say so she can leave. Christen is tired and she doesn’t like this conversation, and she just wants to fall asleep with Tobin wrapped around her. 

“I didn’t think it would happen like this,” Alex says, and Christen thinks that maybe Alex doesn’t mean for her to hear this. “She wasn’t supposed to be mad.”

Christen waits a beat before deciding to respond. 

“She lost so much,” she says softly. “Okay? She lost a lot and you were one of the people who was selfish and she could be angry at. I’m not saying that you deserved it, but she isn’t the crazy one for being upset with you.”

“I know,” Alex says petulantly. “But it’s been months, Christen. Months, and she can barely look at me. What am I supposed to do? Move back to Portland? I don’t think that would go over too well at this point.”

“No, of course not,” Christen says, resisting the temptation to roll her eyes. “But you can let her deal with this the way she has been.”

“You mean avoiding me and shacking up with you?” Alex asks harshly, her voice climbing obtaves. Christen winces at the phrasing, but nods anyway. “So I’m supposed to be fine with the fact that she only comes near me when we’re on the buses now, and she spends every waking and sleeping moment with you? I’m supposed to be fine with the fact that my best friend basically abandoned me because I got married and wanted to be with my husband and she couldn’t deal with it?”

Christen shrugs. “Yeah,” she says simply. “You’re going to have to be okay with that.”

Because Christen knows that Tobin isn’t malleable. It’s impossible to make her do things if they’re not what she wants, if she can’t see reason for it. Tobin has feelings too, and her own way of dealing with them, and even if she isn’t perfect all the time, Christen’s found a way to deal with it which means that Alex can, too. 

Alex heaves a sigh. 

“Will you just tell her to talk to me when she can?” she asks, her voice low and even once more. “Please?”

Christen nods. 

“Thanks,” Alex says, getting up from her perch. She goes to leave but at the last moment before she disappears from view, turns around hesitantly and looks like she wants to say something. “Take care of her for us, okay?”

Christen blinks in confusion. 

“You already said that. Why?”

“For us,” Alex says shrugging. “Me, Amy, Lauren – you know. Just, take care of her if the rest of us can’t.”

“Yeah,” Christen says, something thick in her throat as she looks down at Tobin. “Yeah, okay.”

Alex leaves without ceremony, and Christen would be lying if she said that she wasn’t happy to see her go. Christen then wiggles down in the bed, careful to shift Tobin as minimally as possible. As soon as she’s got her head flat on the pillow. Tobin groans and opens her eyes. 

“I thought she’d never leave.”

Christen gasps. 

“Tobin, I thought you were asleep!”

Tobin laughs lazily, squinting as she smiles up at Christen. “I was at first, but Alex was loud.”

“Sorry,” Christen apologizes. 

“It’s fine,” Tobin says, repositioning herself so she can be level with Christen. “I don’t mind. I just wanted to say thanks for saying everything you did.”

“Oh,” Christen says. “I mean, I was just being honest with her.”

“You were sticking up for me,” Tobin tells her, sliding a hand to wrap around Christen’s waist and hold her close. “Thank you for that.”

She leans in, kissing Christen softly. Christen loves that they can do this in private, be affectionate without worrying about what it means. They’ve agreed to talk every step of the way, and Christen has never felt so comfortable with anyone. She hopes that Tobin feels the same. 

“Love you,” Tobin mumbles against Christen’s lips. The kiss isn’t deep, the both of them smiling into it, but it’s meaningful and it makes Christen’s heart heavy with the weight of it. 

“Love you too,” Christen confesses, the words swallowed up by Tobin’s perpetually chapped lips. 

It’s funny, that those words are perhaps the easiest part of their relationship. Christen had tried to agonize over it at first, but Tobin had managed to calm her down from a near panic attack by reassuring her that it only had to mean as much as they wanted it to. 

“We’re really good friends,” she had explained. “We know each other, and we hang out all the time. We love each other, see? Like we love Kelley and I love Cheney and ARod and you love your dogs and sisters. I love you, and you love me. But we’re even better than that, because I like touching you and I know that you like watching me get dressed. So we love each other, yeah, and we want to have sex with each other, yeah. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. It only has to be what it is.”

Once Christen had accepted that, accepted that they truly were great friends who loved each other and really wanted to get naked together, everything else had fallen into place. It had been the piece of the puzzle that she’d been struggling to make fit, trying to complete the picture and make it so she could look at the whole situation with clarity and understanding. Tobin had been the one to flip the piece over and rotate it ninety degrees to make it so that Christen could see clearly exactly how things were supposed to be. She’d offered a new perspective that Christen had needed desperately, even before she had realized that she needed it. Because her and Tobin were like that – they were peculiarly in tune with each others emotional needs, only because they truly were that close and knew each other that well, and the effort they were putting forth only made it easier and better. 

The parts that are hard are – well, the more Christen thinks about it, none of it is really hard. Tobin is still healing but they’re both working through it together. They’re laying low, keeping it to themselves, and that might be a little hard just because it’s not what they were used to when they were “shacking up,” as Alex might call it, back at Christen’s place. But really, most of it’s easy. Especially the love part. 

*

After the match against Ireland, Christen gets on a plane with Tobin. 

“I’ve actually got to furnish my place, finally,” Tobin had told her when she’d first asked, a little sheepish but mostly not. “Besides. What else are we going to do before qualifiers?”

So that’s how Christen finds herself in the middle of a display living room, sitting on a sofa and trying to decide whether she likes the brown or white fabric better. 

“I’ll just spill stuff on the white fabric,” Tobin insists from where she sits on the loveseat across the way. She had wanted to get a futon and call it a day, but Christen had dragged her to a real place that delivered and everything. A futon wasn’t much better than Tobin’s current set up, which involves the two of them sitting on Tobin’s bed to eat breakfast and sprawling across the floor to watch tv – because neither of them is willing to give in and be the one sitting in the lone chair. 

“But the dark brown doesn’t look good with your floors,” Christen says, flipping through the swatches for the millionth time. “I still don’t see why we can’t get the other couches. They came in a lovely espresso color.”

“I don’t do leather furniture,” Tobin says, shivering. 

“I know,” Christen says as patiently as she can, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at Tobin who has a weird vendetta against leather sectionals. “Can we at least agree that the bed is going to be the one with the dark wood and no footboard?”

“I still don’t see why I need a bed,” Tobin complains. “I have a perfectly good mattress back at the apartment already.”

“Tobin,” Christen says, trying to appear firm despite the affection bubbling up in her as she watches Tobin mindlessly flip through a catalogue. “You need a real bed. A metal frame and a mattress out of a box doesn’t count.”

Tobin flips through the catalogue too fast to actually be registering anything, and Christen waits patiently as she goes through the entire thing before answering. 

“Can I keep the box mattress?” she asks, defeated.

“Yes,” Christen says, grinning into the fabric swatches. 

Tobin catches Christen off guard when she flings herself over the coffee table between them and onto the sofa practically on top of her, snatching away the ring of swatches. 

“Ow,” Christen says, rubbing her chest. “I think you elbowed my boob.”

“I’ll kiss it better if you want,” Tobin offers distractedly before shoving a piece of fabric underneath Christen’s nose. “This one.”

Christen gently takes the swatch from her, holding it arm’s length away to consider it. It’s an oatmeal color, lightly textured and cotton and she thinks it actually might look good with Tobin’s tricky-colored hardwood floors. 

“Yeah,” she says, nodding and taking note of the fabric details, jotting them down on the order form an employee had given them once Tobin had decided that the two of them were perfectly capable of picking out furniture without anyone’s help. “Yeah, this might work.”

“See?” Tobin says, grinning and poking an index finger into Christen’s upper arm. “I know what I’m doing. My taste isn’t awful.”

“Tobin,” Christen sighs exasperatedly, “you wanted to put a giant red rug in the middle of your apartment.”

“And I still stand by that,” Tobin says, standing up and holding out a hand. Christen takes it, using Tobin’s clammy fingers to help pull herself to her feet. “Now let’s go see how fast they can deliver this stuff.”

“What about a coffee table?” Christen asks, nearly tripping over the corner of a side table as Tobin determinedly hunts down a salesperson. “What about accessories? A rug? I swear to God, if you get that red thing – “

Tobin stops and turns around, grinning and using her free hand to pat Christen’s cheek. 

“Calm down,” she says in a way that does nothing to assuage Christen’s worries. “I’m just going to order the room the way it is. My living room looks about that size, yeah?”

Christen is incredulous, but Tobin’s right – her living room is just about the size of the display room. 

It takes hours to sort out the delivery and Christen is thankful that they’d started so early in the day because it’s nearly nightfall by the time everything is set up. Tobin ends up paying a small fortune for same-day delivery but at the end of the day it’s worth it because it’s over and done with, and they can leave Portland with their mission accomplished. 

“Do you think I can take a nap?” Christen asks once the deliverymen have left and she’s flopped down onto Tobin’s new sofa. She throws an arm over her eyes, closing them as Tobin sits down on her shins. “Wake me up at midnight or something.”

“Oh no,” Tobin says, pulling at the laces of Christen’s sneakers. “Get up, come on. We’ve got to eat. We didn’t have lunch, remember?”

“Pretty sure I had one of those energy bars you keep stashed in your car,” Christen shoots. “That counts as lunch.”

“Come on,” Tobin says, uncharacteristically pushy. “Get dressed so we can find something to eat.”

Christen moves her arm and tilts her head up, looking at Tobin who is desperately trying to appear much more nonchalant that she actually is. All of her tells are on display, from the way she bites her lip to how her left leg is shaking up and down. 

“You have food here,” Christen points out. “If you really want to eat, I’m pretty sure I saw the stuff for mac and cheese earlier.”

Tobin rolls her eyes. 

“I’m taking you out on a date,” she tells Christen, tugging off her shoes now that her laces are loose enough. She dumps them carelessly on the floor and Christen cringes. “Now come on. Do me a solid and get dressed in something that isn’t yoga pants.”

Christen sits up, unintentionally jostling Tobin who manages to stay put. She leans forward, puckering her lips for Tobin who responds without a word, sealing their lips together. 

“You didn’t ask,” Christen tells her after a moment, drawing away reluctantly. “If we’re doing this right, you need to ask me.”

Tobin rolls her eyes again. 

“Chris,” she says seriously, reaching for Christen’s hands and holding them both tightly between her palms, “would you do me the honor of going out to dinner together?”

Christen grins widely.

“Yeah, okay,” she says, unable to contain the enthusiastic expression on her face. “Whatever you want.”

Tobin leans forward, her smile as large as Christen imagines her own is, and kisses her once more. Christen loses herself in Tobin’s smile, the kiss little more than a press of lips against each other. 

“Or,” Tobin says, grin fading as she kisses Christen properly, “we can just do this instead.”

Christen laughs, backing away and squirming out from underneath Tobin. “What happened to needing to eat?” she teases, reveling in the unhappy pout Tobin aims at her. 

“We can still go, just later,” Tobin argues, looping an arm around Christen’s waist to stop her from trying to get up from the couch. “It’s still early.”

Christen twists to get a look at the clock on the microwave, managing to squirm up and out of Tobin’s grip. 

“It’s almost seven,” she says. “I’m tired and need time to change. Do you really want to wait to eat until after that?”

“Are you giving me a hard time?” Tobin demands, tugging Christen back down until she eventually loses her balance and falls into Tobin’s lap. Tobin’s knees dig into her thighs until she adjusts, wrapping a hand around Tobin’s neck for leverage. 

“Maybe,” Christen says, smoothing back Tobin’s flyaways. “I mean, you were the one who said that we need to eat out, not me…”

Tobin groans, throwing her head back and closing her eyes. 

“Just tell me what you want to do,” she says, leaning into Christen’s hand as she scratches her fingers against Tobin’s scalp. “We’ll do whatever you want to.”

“Let’s do dinner,” Christen says, pressing a lingering kiss to Tobin’s temple. “And then we can come back here and make out until I fall asleep.”

“Sounds good to me,” Tobin says, and when Christen nudges her lips against Tobin’s cheek, Tobin turns her head to bring her mouth to Christen’s without even opening her eyes. Christen relishes the kiss, letting it get away from her as Tobin sucks her lower lip between hers before slipping her tongue in smoothly. There are few things as wonderful of an experience as kissing Tobin, and Christen is just glad that it’s on the list of things they’ve allowed themselves to do for the time being. 

It isn’t until Tobin’s hand begins to slide up along Christen’s back, creeping under the hem of her shirt and sending goosebumps along Christen’s spine as she gently caresses the skin there, that Christen pulls her thoughts together and pulls away from the kiss. 

“Okay,” she says, just as much to herself as to Tobin. “Okay, that’s enough for now. We’ve got to save something to look forward to later.”

Tobin just chuckles, as if saying _yeah, right,_ but she lets Christen up and follows her into her bedroom to get dressed for an evening out. 

*

It isn’t overly fancy – Tobin’s wearing that goddamn vest, for God’s sake, and they’re only in Portland – but it’s special enough to make Christen blush when she sees the candlelit table. Tobin isn’t overtly romantic, she knows that. Tobin usually does whatever she wants, like showing up on Christen’s doorstep at midnight on her birthday, and inviting Christen along on errands that cross state lines and are absurdly domestic (trust her, Christen knows how domestic they’ve been all day, and she knows that Tobin knows it too – they’re just not discussing it, because it seems pointless when they look at how committed they are to each other already). Usually, though, Tobin’s romantic gestures are relatively private. Shopping for furniture can be platonic, but there’s nothing at all platonic about the small table and dim lighting in the middle of the casually fancy restaurant, and Christen can’t help the way her heart skips a beat when they first sit down. 

There’s wine, and Christen is reminded of the night back in California when Tobin kept refilling their glasses. Back then, Christen had suspected in the back of her mind that something was up, but she hadn’t said anything in fear of ruining whatever Tobin was building up to. Now, though, she’s comfortable with the prospect of whatever is happening between them, and she’s one hundred percent sure that Tobin is too. Christen doesn’t overindulge much – she’s never been huge on alcohol and she doesn’t want to end up drunk while Tobin limits herself to one glass since she’s driving – but she drinks enough to feel happy and warm, bubbles filling up her insides and making her light. She finds herself thankful that she decided to go out instead of staying back at the apartment with mac and cheese, especially since it means that Tobin spends the entire meal not-so-subtly bumping her knees against Christen’s the entire time. 

Then again, maybe she would have done that back at the apartment. 

Tobin pays and tells Christen that she’ll let her pick up the tab next time, and Christen feels a smile curve across her face at the mention of a next time. 

“That was good,” Tobin says, when they get up to go. “What’d you think?”

“Thanks for taking me out,” Christen says, following close behind Tobin as they weave their way between tables on their way out. She presses her hand to the small of Tobin’s back, fingertips maintaining contact at all times to keep close. “I’m glad we got to do this.”

“Me too,” Tobin says, peeking over her shoulder to smile at Christen. She almost trips over her own feet, and Christen grins as Tobin recovers and focuses on walking the rest of the way out the door. 

The winter air outside is cool and Christen shivers, bringing her arms up to hug herself. 

“Here,” Tobin says, noticing instantly. “I don’t have a jacket this time, but I’m just as good.”

“I’m fine,” Christen tries to convince her, even as Tobin tugs Christen close. It’s awkward, walking pressed up against each other on the way to the car, especially since Christen isn’t even really all that cold. The chilly wind feels good against the back of her neck, but Christen lets Tobin hold her close until they reach the car. Once inside, Tobin leans forward to turn on the heat. 

“Hey,” Christen says, reaching to stop Tobin’s fingers. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Tobin says, holding up her palms defensively. “Just wanted to make sure you were in case you weren’t. Just trying to take care of you here.”

Christen just smiles at her in the dark, reaching over to rest a hand over the curve of Tobin’s thigh. There’s denim separating skin-on-skin contact, but it’s enough to make Christen lean over and kiss her like there isn’t a console between them. Tobin responds instantly, bringing up a hand to predictably tangle in the base of Christen’s hair as she allows her lips to be claimed. 

“I’m really glad we went out and all,” Christen murmur against Tobin’s mouth, “but could we maybe get back to yours sometime soon?”

She isn’t sure what makes her say it, because she knows the implications of a heavy statement like that, and she also knows that the plan so far has been to hold off on anything more serious than what they’re currently doing. Hell, she hasn’t even let Tobin’s hand get anywhere one wouldn’t see in a Disney movie. The fact of the matter is, though, that things are going well and they haven’t hit a snag thus far and every day that goes by marks another day that Tobin seems happier. So she’s confident and excited, leaning over to rest her head on Tobin’s bicep as the car starts, even though her seatbelt is digging into her hip.

It reminds Christen of the night she drove Tobin to the beach, both of them knowing that the night was significant even if they wouldn’t discuss it outright. That time Tobin’s hand had been on Christen’s thigh as Christen drove, and now the situation is reversed. Things have changed since then, and Christen takes a moment to reflect on how far they’ve come since the beginning of the victory tour – since they’ve met, really. She gets distracted though, her attention captured by Tobin’s profile in the dim streetlights. Tobin focuses intently on the road and Christen’s mind is hazy in the best way, and it’s the best night she’s had in a while even though it’s barely started. 

They hit every red light on the way back – or at least that’s how it feels to Christen. She gets bored after ten minutes, tilting her head to barely kiss the side of Tobin’s neck. 

“Hey,” Tobin says, mostly playfully but with a reprimanding look in her eyes. “Careful.”

“What?” Christen asks with a smile, kissing her again, this time letting her lips stay just a little longer. “You smell good.”

Tobin always smells good. The mere scent of her almond shampoo relaxes Christen and her perfume always tickles her senses in the best way. Even when they practice, Tobin smells like powdery deodorant and laundry detergent, inexplicably reminding Christen of home.

“Okay, but you can’t eat me,” Tobin says, jerking her head to the other side. Christen just follows though, kissing the long column of skin again. “Seriously, Chris. As nice as this is, I still have to get us back in one piece. Just wait, at least.”

Christen can’t though, too absorbed in the feel of Tobin’s skin and the smell of her perfume at the base of her neck. She sucks lightly, not even close to hard enough to leave a mark, before nipping lightly. When Tobin whines low in the back of her throat, Christen hold back a giggle in favor of darting out a tongue to lick over the spot. 

“Chris,” Tobin groans, coming to another red light. “I’m driving, here. You don’t want me to crash, do you?”

She just sucks on her neck in response and Tobin seemingly gives up. 

By the time Tobin parks the car, Christen’s gotten so lost in Tobin’s neck that she’s a little surprised when she draws back to see a small, faintly purple mark on the side of her neck. 

It will be gone in a few days, she determines, deciding not to tell Tobin about it before she has to. 

She doesn’t even get the chance to tell Tobin, though, because as soon as the car is thrown into park, Tobin climbs over the center console to straddle Christen with a very stern look on her face. 

“Listen,” she says seriously. “That’s not fair. You can’t do that kind of stuff to me while I can’t touch you.”

Christen just blinks up at her, processing the words, but then Tobin is sweeping down and kissing Christen so heatedly that she can’t think at all. 

It reminds her of their first kiss because it’s frantic and frenzied, but it’s better because Tobin’s fingering the neckline of her top with one hand and gripping her waist with the other. Christen almost moans at the first touch because she’s so overwhelmed, so enraptured by Tobin’s actions and so incredibly turned on that she can’t even take a second to think about the implications of what they’re doing. It doesn’t matter that they haven’t talked about this or that despite the familiarity of the territory, this is still relatively new and terrifying. All that matters is that Christen’s hand is finding a home on the small of Tobin’s back, and she’s just amazed at how they’ve found themselves where they are. 

Before long, Tobin’s stretched out the neckline of Christen’s shirt and has a hand inside one of the cups of her bra. She’s holding Christen’s breast gently, running a thumb over her nipple and swallowing up every quiet moan that Christen can’t hold back. Christen fists the fabric of Tobin’s shirt, easily swept up in the sensory overload resulting from the way Tobin is now rolling her nipple between her fingers. She doesn’t know how they got here, how they got from soft and careful touches to feeling one another up in a car where anyone could walk up and see them, but she doesn’t want to think about it too much, in case she ends up changing her mind.

It isn’t long before Tobin is breaking apart from Christen, leaning back and panting with kiss-swollen lips and a hungry look in her eyes. Christen’s bra is all wonky and she still has a boob out, nipple impossible stiff from Tobin’s manipulations and the cool air seeping into the car, and all she wants is to pull Tobin forward so they can be pressed up against each other until she’s satisfied and not feeling like she needs to clench her thighs tightly just to keep her wits about her. It seems that Tobin isn’t thinking along the same lines, though, because she reaches out a steady hand to open the car door and slide to the ground. 

“What’re you doing?” Christen asks, suddenly on alert. 

“We,” Tobin says with emphasis, “are going up the the apartment, where there is a couch, and where we don’t have to make out in my car like a couple of teenagers.”

Christen accepts Tobin’s outstretched hand, letting her help her to her feet. She moves so Tobin can grab her things out of the car, shutting the door once she’s got her key ring in hand. 

“I hate this vest, you know,” Christen says, following close to Tobin and tugging on the denim. 

“I could swear that you’ve worn something like it before,” Tobin says, eyes narrowing. 

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Christen says uncharacteristically, and Tobin’s cheeks burn red for a moment as they make their way up the sidewalk. 

“Well,” Tobin says, slowing down as she approaches her door. “I mean, that’s not really a problem. Seeing as how we’re still supposed to be fully clothed around each other.”

Christen pushes Tobin hard enough to send her stumbling. 

“Tobin!” she exclaims. “’You just had your hand in my shirt! How can you say that?”

“You were still fully clothed,” Tobin points out, unlocking the door. “Technically, not breaking any rules.”

“We never had official rules,” Christen says, the wheels in her mind whirring as she steps inside, Tobin right behind her. 

“I mean, they were all kind of implied – “

Christen doesn’t let Tobin finish before she’s spinning around, pinning Tobin to the door she’s just closed and catching Tobin’s hand before it can shoot out to turn on the light. 

“So technically,” Christen says, eyes glued on Tobin’s, the apartment dimly lit by the light from the bedroom that they’d forgotten to turn off earlier (Tobin had forgotten, and it had been driving Christen crazy the entire time they were gone, except now she’s grateful because it gives her just enough light to see how intently Tobin is looking at her), “this wouldn’t be breaking a rule, right?”

Tobin swallows as Christen trails a hand down Tobin’s front, starting at her shoulder and making its way between the valley of her breasts, down her stomach until she’s pushing up her shirt hem and thumbing the button of her jeans. 

“Technically?” Tobin says, her voice teetering on the edge of control. “I guess not.”

Christen grins as she flicks open the button and deftly slides down the zipper, fingers brushing the soft cotton of Tobin’s underwear. 

“What about this?” Christen teases, dragging her fingertips up from the bottom of the exposed triangle until she’s tugging on the elastic waistband, just barely making skin-on-skin contact. 

Tobin swallows noticeably, eyes locked on Christen as she refuses to give in. 

“I mean,” Tobin says slowly, keys falling from her hand to the floor, “clothes are still on.”

Christen takes a moment to steel herself, but she’s confident and aroused and she knows that Tobin has to be too, so she doesn’t wait long at all before slipping her fingers past the cotton and wedging her hand deeper. 

“Fuck,” Tobin mutters lowly, head tilting back to hit the front door. “I hate you.”

Christen bites her lip, the urge to smile in triumph overcome by a soft moan as her fingers finds an impossibly large pool of wetness at the apex of Tobin’s thighs. It’s more than she could have imagined, the length of her fingers instantly coated as she runs them through. The angle is awkward and Christen knows that the jeans are going to need to go if Christen has any hope of getting her fingers inside of Tobin, but she’s pleased enough with brushing her fingers over her entrance for the time being. 

“Fuck, Chris,” Tobin pants, eyes only half open as her chest heaves with every shallow breath she takes. “So much for boundaries, huh?”

Christen does grin then, hiding it in Tobin’s neck as she leans forward to press her lips to the exposed juncture of neck and shoulder. She kisses and then sucks, fingers slowly working Tobin up with what limited space she has. It’s easy to glide briefly over her clit, the tip of her fingerl dragging gently and making Tobin’s neck muscles tense as her jaw clenches. From where she is, Christen can feel and hear every little motion and noise that Tobin makes. It’s something else entirely to hear the beginnings of every moan that is coaxed forth, starting slow and low and turning into loud keening things that have Christen lightly biting into Tobin’s skin, into a spot that may or may not be covered by an average shirt – she’s not really sure, and she can’t be bothered to care. She’s too busy working Tobin over, knowing from the slight jerking motions of her hips that Tobin is nowhere near orgasm but that rather she’s growing increasingly frustrated. Part of Christen enjoys it, seeing how long she can go at it until Tobin begs, because she’s not patient and with every minute that passes her movements become more and more desperate. 

“Chris,” Tobin whines, a warning tone to her voice as her hips bear down on Christen’s fingers, still only curving against her and refusing to enter. “Chris, this isn’t funny. Stop it.”

Christen is too busy elaborately decorating the growing hickey on Tobin’s neck, dragging her teeth over the area in favor of responding. 

“Christen,” Tobin tries again, her voice just as strained as the tendons in her neck. “Just, your fingers – please – could you – “

She’s speaking in stuttered phrases, giving up on letting Christen move this forward as her hands scramble at her own hips in an attempt to push down her clothes and give Christen easier access. Christen plants one last kiss on top of the bruise that’s already formed, angry and purple-red, before moving to rest her forehead against Tobin’s and still her hands with her own free hand. 

“Calm down,” Christen says, and she watches as Tobin blinks before focusing her gaze. “Stop. Tell me what you want.”

A cry never makes its way out of Tobin’s mouth, but Christen hears it regardless. 

“I want – “ Tobin starts, fighting to keep her eyes on Christen’s, “I want your fingers inside me.”

Tobin has successfully pushed down her pants enough that it’s not difficult for Christen to slip her fingers down further, sliding one into Tobin agonizingly slow. She pumps it in and out a few times, carefully watching Tobin’s face to monitor her reactions. 

“Another,” Tobin gasps after a minute. Christen listens, and once she’s got both fingers in she begins to crook them slightly, massaging Tobin’s walls. Tobin breathes out little puffs of air, eyes screwing shut as she begins to fall back against the door. “Right there, Chris. Don’t stop. Right – “

Christen plays with Tobin, entranced with how willing Tobin is to bare her soul while at Christen’s mercy. She’s open and free, pushing back against Christen’s fingers and moaning loudly every time Christen hits this one spot. Christen works at it, mindful of what Tobin likes – a good amount of roughness, persistent fingers, a quick pace, and when Christen swipes a thumb over her clit, however brief it is. 

“Do you think you can come like this?” Christen asks after a while, Tobin’s neck sweating with the effort required to keep her from crying out constantly. She’s let loose a couple of times, Christen’s name a frequent word on her tongue along with a few choice curses. 

“Yeah,” Tobin says, nodding and cracking open her eyes to look at Christen. “Yeah, just – just please don’t stop, Chris.”

So Christen keeps at it, working her fingers into Tobin with focus and intent that is easily rewarded. It isn’t difficult, managing to unravel Tobin and turn her into a jellied mess, but it’s immensely gratifying as Tobin slumps into Christen like she’s found heaven. Her lips make a half-hearted pass at Christen’s, but she’s too starry-eyed to put much effort into it.

“You are seriously the best,” Tobin mutters when she settles her face into Christen’s neck. “The best.”

“I know,” Christen says, sweeping a hand over Tobin’s back. It’s almost comical, with Tobin’s pants and underwear down by her knees and the two of them otherwise fully clothed. 

“I want to do you,” Tobin mumbles, “but I don’t think I’ve stopped shaking yet.”

Christen laughs, pressing a kiss into Tobin’s hair. 

“Come on,” she says, straightening and helping Tobin do the same. “Let’s take advantage of that bathtub you’ve got, and then we’ll talk about that.”

Tobin lets Christen dump an obscene amount of bubbles into the bath before they both give up on any ridiculously pretenses and strip naked and get in together. Tobin settles in first, and Christen can feel her eyeing the length of her body as she pulls off her pants and pulls her hair into a bun. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Tobin says as Christen attempts to climb over the tub ledge as modestly as possible. 

“You know, you’ve already got me naked,” Christen says, wincing at the hot water covering her calves. “You don’t need to convince me.”

“Just being honest,” Tobin shrugs, reaching up sudsy hands to hold Christen’s hips and guide her down into the bath. Christen goes carefully, settling with her back to Tobin’s front and leaning into the warm skin behind her. 

They just sit in the water, Tobin playing with Christen’s fingers and Christen closing her eyes as her head falls back onto Tobin’s shoulder. She’s so comfortable, so happy and warm that she could almost slip into sleep. 

“So are we doing this for real now?” Tobin asks after a long stretch of silence. 

“Doing what?” Christen asks sleepily. 

“Come on,” Tobin says, her knee nudging Christen’s thigh. “I’m not going to run out on you, I promise.”

“We’ll see in the morning,” Christen says, and she means it as a joke, but the silence that follows tells her that Tobin doesn’t see it as such.

“Hey,” Christen says, turning around and raising a hand to cup Tobin’s jaw. “I’m kidding. I know you’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m here to stay,” Tobin says certainly. “I want you to know that. I want to be here.”

“I do know that,” Christen says soothingly, pressing a kiss to the corner of Tobin’s mouth. “I trust you, I do.”

Tobin opens her mouth to respond but before she can, the ringing of a phone cuts through the room.

“It’s mine,” Christen says, looking over the edge of the tub. “I think it’s still in my pants pocket. I might be able to reach it if – “

Tobin rolls her eyes, sticking an arm out over the side to swipe at Christen’s clothes and shake the phone free.

“You probably don’t even need to answer this,” Tobin says, and she probably doesn’t care who’s calling Christen, but she goes and retrieves the phone anyway. “Oh, look. We’ve got a very important person calling.”

“Who?” Christen asks, twisting around as Tobin swipes at the screen before holding the phone to her ear. Her hand is still slightly wet, and it’s giving Christen anxiety. “Tobin, if you drop my phone in the water, I swear to God – “

“Hey, babe,” Tobin says into the phone, ignoring Christen aside from the crinkly-eyed smile she aims in her direction. “What’s up?”

Christen can’t hear the words coming from the other end of the call, but the voice is one that she vaguely recognizes. “Who is that?” she asks, only earning a poorly executed wink in return. 

“Yeah, she’s here,” Tobin says, eyes roving over Christen’s form, the bubbles in the water having mostly dissipated at this point. “ _Right_ here. Do you need her?”

“Tobin,” Christen says, doing her best to sound annoyed. “Who is it?”

“Oh,” Tobin says, drawing the word out. “Well. That sounds like your problem, not mine.”

“Who is it?” Christen asks again, this time poking her fingers into Tobin’s stomach. Tobin’s abdominals contract instinctually, and Christen tries to ignore how good Tobin looks and feels when wet. “Tobin, tell me, or else I’m getting out.”

Tobin adjusts how she’s holding the phone so she can lean forward, pressing a wet kiss to Christen’s lips and securing a hand around her waist. Her hand presses dangerously low against Christen’s abdomen, and Christen has to shake her head clear to keep from getting distracted.

“I see,” Tobin says, still talking into the phone as she leans back. “Well, you have the flight info. Christen emailed it to you I thought. You know when we’ll be back. Sorry that Moe isn’t cutting it as quality company, though. And I can’t promise you that we’ll be much better.”

“Is that Kelley?” Christen asks, wishing that her hands were dry so she could steal the phone away. “Tobin, let me talk to her. Put it on speaker or something.”

Tobin ignores her, grinning widely and tapping the fingers of her hand against Christen’s skin in a way that makes Christen forget what she’s even protesting against in the first place.

“I promise, but only if you tell Chris that this is for real,” Tobin says, she she puts the phone on speaker so that Christen can hear Kelley’s distinctive snort. 

“What’s real, the fact that you two are probably going to forget about me and leave me with poor sad little Moe so you can go off and have sex marathons all day long?”

Christen glares at the phone, scandalized. 

“That’s not happening,” Christen says resolutely. “We love you, Kell. We’re not going to forget about you when we come back.”

“Are you telling me that you two are going to keep your hands to yourself?” Kelley says, scoffing. “Yeah, okay.”

“Well, we managed for all of camp,” Christen points out. 

“I thought that was a joke,” Kelley says, and Christen can imagine her nose wrinkling in doubt.

“Nope,” Tobin says, grinning at Christen. “We totally kept clothed the entire time.”

Christen turns her glare onto Tobin. 

“Wow,” Kelley says, sounding dubious but impressed. “I don’t know if I’d be able to keep my hands off of my girlfriend for that long.”

“Oh,” Christen says suddenly, face feeling especially warm in the humid bathroom. “Um – we’re not – at least, not yet, not officially – “

Kelley laughs.

“Wait, have you guys not sorted that out yet?” she asks incredulously. “What are you waiting for?”

“I’m _trying_ to sort it out,” Tobin says, finger digging in and making Christen squirm. “That’s why I’m saying, tell Chris how real this is.”

“It’s real,” Kelley says definitively. “So real that I’m puking real vomit.”

“Gross,” Tobin comments, eyes glued to Christen’s face, which is becoming more and more red as the conversation continues. “Listen, Christen lied.”

“About what?” Kelley asks curiously. 

“About keeping our hands to ourselves,” Tobin answers. “I’m touching her right now, and there’s no way we’re staying clothed when camp isn’t in session.”

Kelley groans loudly and Christen’s mouth drops open as she stares at Tobin in disbelief. 

“Oh God,” Kelley says. “You’re naked, aren’t you? You’re both talking to me while naked. Oh, God. Do I need to hang up?”

“Yeah, you probably shouldn’t have called in the first place,” Tobin says, leaning forward and chasing Christen’s lips to give her a convincing kiss. “Bye, Kelley. See you soon.”

Kelley gags before bidding them goodbye, and Tobin tosses the phone to the side before wrapping her arms around Christen’s neck, finally relieving Christen of the pressure against her lower abdomen. 

“Sorry,” she tells Christen without prompting. “But I figured it’s okay with Kelley.”

“Kelley only,” Christen says strictly. “I don’t want this to become a thing.”

“But it _is_ a thing,” Tobin explains gently. “I mean, come on, Chris. Look at us. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Christen says, kissing Tobin briefly. “But I’m just thinking of what if this doesn’t work out, and do we really want everyone to know, and – “

“Stop,” Tobin interrupts. “This is going to work out. Okay?”

Christen doesn’t say anything, and Tobin sighs. 

“Okay,” Tobin says, more to herself than Christen before speaking up. “You’re going to make me act like a real adult, aren’t you?” 

Christen is puzzled, looking at Tobin who lets out another sigh before continuing. 

“Christen,” she says seriously, “I love you. Will you please officially be my girlfriend and stop acting like this might not last for a very very very long time?”

Christen just looks at Tobin, the words ringing in her ears. 

“Oh,” Christen says blankly. “I don’t like you as an adult. It’s weird.”

Tobin is getting slightly frustrated, gripping Christen tightly and getting that look in her face that makes Christen fumble for more eloquent words. 

“No, okay,” she says, pressing her lips against Tobin’s for a second. “Let me rephrase that.”

“Yeah, you better,” Tobin advises. 

“I love you too,” Christen says, and the smile that Tobin wears almost immediately makes her smile as well. “I will most definitely be your girlfriend, if you promise to not mention us naked to other people.”

“Except Kelley,” Tobin bargains. 

Christen groans, tilting her head back in exasperation.

“Fine,” Tobin gives in. “Not even Kelley.”

“Better,” Christen tells her, rewarding her with a longer kiss. They get lost in it, Tobin’s hands wandering over slippery skin as Christen melts into her. 

“You know,” Tobin says quietly, pulling back just far enough to talk, “I know that for a few months there, everything kind of went to shit for me.”

Christen goes to respond, but a finger pressed to her lips makes her go silent. 

“Just listen,” Tobin tells her seriously. “A lot of things happened to me that I had trouble with at first, and at the time I didn’t know what I would do. But you were there for me every step of the way, being whatever I needed, and I want to make sure that you know that I wouldn’t be where I am today without you. Without you, I’d probably still be wallowing. So I just want you to know, that as much as what happened sucks, and is always going to suck, I’m so thankful that it gave me this opportunity with you. Six months ago I didn’t know what to do with you, but now I know that I want this more than anything. Chris – are you crying?”

“No,” Christen denies weakly, brushing her cheek against her shoulder to wipe away the tears. “No, I most definitely am not.”

Tobin chuckles, kissing the wetness on her cheeks. 

“I love you,” Tobin says fondly. “I really, really do.”

Christen looks at Tobin’s face, amazed by the depth and sincerity of emotion there. 

“I love you too,” Christen says. 

“Now,” Tobin says, a mischievous look forming on her face. “Let’s get out of here and let me return the favor from earlier.”

“Tobin,” Christen says with a straight face. “I’m serious about the Kelley thing. If you – “

“Don’t worry,” Tobin says, cutting her off. “No one will ever know how lucky I am that you decided to give me a chance.”

She rises from the bath, helping Christen up before getting them both towels and letting the water drain. 

“As much as I enjoyed you pinning me against the door earlier,” Tobin says, glancing sideways as Christen as they both hurriedly dry off, “I think that I really prefer the bed.”

“We’re always in bed,” Christen says, casually passing the towel over her calves. “We’ve always been in bed together.”

“I know,” Tobin says, coming close enough to slide a hand over Christen’s bare stomach, fingers skimming over muscle as she plants a soft kiss to Christen’s collarbone. “Maybe that’s why I like it there so much. Reminds of when we had no idea where this was going, but we were trying anyway.”

“I was trying,” Christen reminds her. “You were moping around.”

“ _We_ were trying,” Tobin insists with emphasis, dropping her towel to the floor and then tugging on Christen’s, letting it fall as well.

“Tobin,” Christen says, and Tobin’s wide eyes look at her innocently, long wet eyelashes blinking slowly against the tops of her cheeks. “Are you telling me that you were sleeping in my bed all those times on purpose? Are you telling me that you had ulterior motives when I invited you into my house, into my _bed?_ ”

Tobin bites her bottom lip, a guilty look crossing over her face. 

“Maybe.” 

“I can’t believe you,” Christen says, shaking her head and ducking her face. “You are a piece of work, you know that?”

“But I’m your piece of work,” Tobin asks, and despite the grin on her face, Christen can hear the needy undertones. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Christen relents, tucking herself into Tobin’s outstretched arm and letting herself be guided into the bedroom, a kiss pressed to her cheek along the way. “Yeah, you’re mine now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so there you have it! thank you so everyone who has read and commented. i love each and every one of you, i promise.
> 
> i've got another fic i'm planning on posting in a few days, so hang around here if you think that's something you might be interested in. in the meantime, i'm still giving away spoiler sentences if you message me on tumblr (softanticipation.tumblr.com), so if you want to know what i'm working on, hit me up there.

**Author's Note:**

> On a scale of one to ten, how much would y'all like part two? The rest of this is already written so it should hold at four parts barring any extensive editing.


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